


Icarus

by TheUmbraphage



Category: Persona 3, Persona 4, Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Adulthood, Akechi Goro Lives, Arisato Minato Lives, Cyberpunk, Depression, Did I Mention Angst?, Disabled Character, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Indulgent Game Mechanics, Internet!Cognitive 'Verse, Kurusu Akira is a Mess, LGBTQ Themes, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Mystery, New Game New Rules, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Persona 6, Persona 6 Concept, Psychological Trauma, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans P6 Protagonist, University, and breaking of mechanics, but mostly POV P5 Protagonist, everyone's grown up w h a t, psychological profiling, so much psychology, technically New Game+
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:13:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14022018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUmbraphage/pseuds/TheUmbraphage
Summary: They say that Icarus plummeted from the heavens because of his arrogance, but they always forget that a fall is sometimes a necessary sacrifice.--Eight years later, Akira is haunted by a detective who died too young, but when he is enlisted in an investigation as a criminal profiler, he discovers that the waters run far deeper than he expects.





	1. 27/02/2024

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic? Yes. Also unbeta'ed? Yes. I really need a beta reader. I'm still really new to this fandom and I don't have a Playstation so I have to rely solely on Wikia and playthroughs for all my information, so I accept all constructive criticism! I hope you enjoy this angsty mess.

_February 22nd 2024_

 

Yamaki Chihiro paced outside the shared bathroom of her apartment, eyes wandering to the clock on the wall as she counted the ticking seconds. She let out a long breath, focusing her attention on the TV screen in the living room. The news was on. A repeat of the same news from hours earlier. Yet another scandal with one of the runners for office; the anchormen were commenting on the awful similarities between this and the Shido Scandal of 2016. Chihiro rolled her eyes at the dramatism.

 

_Tick. Tock. Tick._

 

Her bare foot tapped to the march of the clock as she looked back to the restroom door. Her eyes narrowed and she let out a short puff of air. The faucet water was still running in the bathroom.

 

_Tick. Tock. Tick._

 

Chihiro’s eyebrows furrowed. What was she gonna do? There was no reason for her sister to take this long in the bath. They still had to meet up with their friends at the buffet in half an hour to celebrate passing all their finals; the buffet was twenty minutes away and Chihiro knew the crowd’s weren’t getting any thinner at this time of night.

 

_Tick. Tock. Tick._

 

_Drip._

 

The muscle beneath her eye twitched, the dark mole stark against her skin spasming. An exasperated escaped her lips, “Auuugh…” Chihiro strode to the closed and and rapped on the wood with her knuckles. “Suzumi! You’ve been in there for 45 minutes already! We’re gonna be late!”

 

She waited for a response. Instead, she was met with the continual sound of the running faucet, deafening in the silence. She knocked again, “Suzumi?”

 

_Drip._

 

“I’m coming in, okay?” Chihiro called before she grasped the cold door knob and twisted. As the door swung inwards, she was met with hot steam hitting her in the face. Squinting through the white fog, she struggled to discern the details of the bathroom. She stepped in and promptly jumped as a shiver ran up her spine when her foot unexpectedly touched a puddle of warm water on the tiled floors. The bathtub was overflowing. She called, voice raising several octaves, “Suzumi?”

 

_Drip._

 

Her sister’s black hair floated in the bathtub as her pale form sat unmoving like a rock on the shore swallowed up and strangled by black seaweed. Her head was still above water, propped against the edge of the white tub.

 

“Suzumi? Don’t tell me you fell asleep…” Chihiro laughed, but the amusement never quite reached her voice as it shook. She walked toward her sister, feet making sloshing sounds in the warm overflowed bathwater.

 

As she lightly shook her sister’s bare shoulder to rouse her, she wasn’t prepared for her sister’s head to roll toward her with the unblinking gray eyes of a dead woman.

 

\--

 

_February 27th 2024_

 

Akira leaned back in his chair as he sipped his coffee, silently reminding himself to make up for the instant coffee later by stopping by at Leblanc’s once he got off work. Presumably soon, but that was too much to hope for.

 

A stack of manila folders dropped on his desk with a heavy thud. Akira set his mug down with no hurry and raised his head to look curiously at Makoto, who, though she maintained her prim appearance, looked perhaps more exhausted than he was. Akira inquired, “New case?”

 

Makoto nodded tersely. “It’s the unexplained comas. This is the sixth one already and finally it’s declared to be investigated into. The director’s calling for a meeting in ten minutes.”

 

“You better make yourself some coffee before then. You look like you need it.”

 

“I could say the same about you.” Makoto’s lips twitched into a small smile as she leaned on his desk.

 

“Ah, but I have mine right here. See, I’m already feeling the life come back to me.” Akira mused before he downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp. He grimaced at the scalding heat that slid down his throat and let out a cough.

 

Makoto rolled her eyes before pushing herself off his desk to make her way to the coffee maker. “See you in ten, Akira.”

 

He stared at the stack of folders in thought, waving mindlessly at Makoto, slid the top one toward him. At least it wouldn’t hurt to skim the case before the meeting.

 

\--

 

The room was dim as they debriefed the case. Surprisingly, only three investigators sat through the meeting including Akira and Makoto. The other, who introduced himself as Special Investigator Arisato Minato, claimed that he temporarily moved to Tokyo from Hokkaido to work on this case.

 

Akira couldn’t help but surreptitiously gaze from the corner of his eyes at the mysterious blue-haired man eight years his senior as the just-as-mysterious redhead clicked through the slides of the presentation projected on the wall, filling the room with her commanding voice. Both Arisato and the woman, whose introduction was skipped in favor of jumping into the debriefing, exuded not only an air of confidence that came with years of experience but also a sense that they hide many secrets beneath what looked like shallow water. With retrospect, this should be unsurprising because no one could be a Special Investigator for so many years without garnering secrets of their own. Yet, something about these two newcomers pressed in the back of his mind and he could not figure out why.

 

“At the first glance, the comatose patients seem to have random backgrounds, so it’s difficult to discern if there is a perpetrator or if these incidents are completely remote from each other. A possible link we discovered is that the most recent patient, Yamaki Suzumi, and two other patients, Ito Takumi and Ginki Kaoru, were taking a new prescription of anxiety medication signed by Dr. Nakamura Chou.”

 

“What about the other three patients?” Makoto was the first to speak, eyebrows raised.

 

The woman paused in her presentation, pursing her lips as she met Makoto’s gaze. She replied, “Unfortunately, their families refused to disclose their medical information.”

 

A short moment of silence befell the room, a blanket of tense discontent settling on their shoulders. It would be difficult to prove poisonings, if that were indeed the case. Akira quietly looked between the redhead and the director with a slight furrow of his eyebrows. While he didn’t mind taking on this case, it didn’t make sense why he and Makoto were chosen; despite quickly joining the Special Investigations Unit within six months of being in law enforcement, they were still rookies for having spent less than a year in the department.

 

He spoke to no one in particular, voice piercing the silence, “It sounds like the CSI department would be put to better use than us, if the patients were all poisoned.” The question was left unspoken.

 

“The CSI is already working on it,” the director finally spoke, eyeing Akira curiously from behind his small frame glasses. “However, there are other matters to attend to in this case. While the likely cause is poisoning, the TMPD chief has asked for the SIU to work with Kirijo-san here in case if there’s something far more dangerous to this case. Isn’t that right, Kirijo-san?”

 

The redhead stiffened at the unexpected use of her name before replying, “Yes. Normally this case would be left to the TMPD, however the fact that these comas have occured in the past three weeks is raising alarms.”

 

Akira leaned his back against his chair, grey eyes thoughtful as he scoured through his mind. For some reason, the name Kirijo sounded familiar…

 

“Excuse me, but would you happen to be Mitsuru Kirijo? Why have you joined this investigation?” Makoto spoke up from beside him. Well, that answered his question, but many more raised in its place. Kirijo-san, if he remembered correctly, was the CEO of the Kirijo Group and no doubt shouldn’t be here.

 

Kirijo was quick in responding, “I don’t have time to work as an investigator, if that’s what you’re asking. I do have connections that would be valuable to this investigation, so I’m a consultant.”

 

Akira stilled his face before he could raise an eyebrow. How suspicious. Directing the conversation back to the case, he asked, “We haven’t encountered a case like this before. How would you suggest we proceed?”

 

“If possible, interview Dr. Nakamura as soon as you can,” the director stated, sliding a file toward Akira.

 

There goes his plan of retiring early for the night.

 

\--

 

_February 28th 2024_

 

It didn’t take long to secure an appointment with Dr. Nakamura, much to Akira’s surprise. Dr. Nakamura was a middle aged woman who had made a name for herself as one of the top psychiatrists of Tenkane Clinic, the most popular clinic in Tokyo, and likely had her schedule filled with appointments back to back. The detective was immensely lucky.

 

Akira stood with his umbrella open, blocking the cold afternoon rain that beat down on the crowd as he waited for the light to turn at the crosswalk. He reached into the pocket of his black wool coat and pulled out his phone to turn it on. _3:08 PM,_ it read. He will be a few minutes early. Akira looked up just as the light turned and shoved his phone back in his pocket, ignoring the nostalgia that rose in his chest. Even after several years, it was strange to not see the red and black icon on his screen anymore. In the past year alone, every day was a deja vu. The motions of shuffling through copies of evidence, witness statement, and police reports on his desk. The near constant presence of a half filled coffee mug on his desk as it slowly cooled. The struggle of having to survive off of cup ramen and apples when he couldn’t stay home.

 

 _Ironic, isn’t it?_ A soft, familiar voice not his own murmured into his ear. He could almost feel a cool breath on his neck. Akira squashed the twinge in his heart down, but the image of russet eyes mocking him did not leave his mind. It was ironic, he supposed. Ryuji especially found it odd that he’d take up law enforcement as a career after getting his degree in psychology, but it seemed that everyone in their group picked up on Akira’s intentions. No one has spoken to him about it, silently accepting his choice.

 

Akira felt a smaller form crash into him, shaking him out of his thoughts. He reached out a hand, grasping the shoulder of the person in front of him—a dark skinned young woman wearing sunglasses despite the cloudy day—and helped stabilize her before she could fall.

 

“Hey, can’t you watch where you’re going?” The woman huffed, looking straight ahead at Akira’s chest rather than his face. He blinked, surprised, before the details of her appearance sunk into his conscious. The sunglasses were large, covering the entirety of her eyes. A red cane rested in her hands. On her back was strapped a backpack filled with something—books if he had to hazard a guess based on the outline of the fabric over the objects.

 

Akira let go of her shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

 

“Hm,” the woman looked more exasperated by the apology than anything and brushed past Akira, tapping her cane against the sidewalk as she weaved through the crowd at half speed toward a building displaying in blue lights the named _Cybusnet._

 

Akira’s eyes followed her back, a strange feeling of familiarity washing over him yet he could not identify where he had seen her before. He finally shook his head and continued on his way to Tenkane Clinic. The clinic did not take up a building of its own; instead it was on the fourth floor of a numbered forum nestled among several buildings. While the gray building itself was inconspicuous, disappearing among the many that occupied the block, it did not take long for the detective to find it. He stood in front of the twelve story building as the rain beat down harder than before, glancing at his phone again. _3:15 PM._

 

The air conditioning was on full blast when he entered the building. He opted to not remove his coat, the cold air already chilling his face, and as soon as he stepped into the elevator, the air became imperceptibly warmer. He pressed the button for the fourth floor and watched as the doors slid close, the mirror-like walls reflecting his image back into his eyes. While his clothes and stature were impeccable, his black hair was twice as voluminous and frizzy than usual from the humidity. He ran his cold hand through his hair, hoping to flatten the nest but the mess somehow grew even worse as his hair responded by sticking straight up. He let out a sigh and gave up. Maybe he should take Ann’s advice and start buying that new shampoo that, as she claimed, would at least make his hair look livable for squirrels and birds (he was still slightly offended that she implied that not even local wildlife would want to settle in his hair).

 

The lobby of Tenkane Clinic was near empty save for a hooded man bent over a magazine and quietly reading the words off the page to himself, seating in a chair in the far corner. At the desk sat a young brunette who looked up when the door clicked open with Akira’s entrance. She smiled cheerfully at him, “Hello! How may I help you?”

 

Akira nodded to her in greetings and fished his badge from his pocket for the secretary. “I’m Detective Kurusu. I have an appointment with Doctor Nakamura at 3:20.”

 

Her eyes widened comically in surprise before she suddenly let out a soft giggle. Flustered, she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, so you’re the detective? You’re...”

 

“Young?” Akira’s lips twitched up in a smile. “I get that a lot.”

 

She smiled. “Well, I was just expecting someone a lot older. You know, like that American show Criminal Psyche.”

 

“Rest assured, the show exaggerates most of the time.”

 

Before the secretary could respond, the door in the back clicked open and drew their attention from the conversation. Silvery eyes stared hawk-like at the detective from beneath hooded lids while red lips were settled in a grim line. The woman in a white coat draped over a simple blue blouse and trousers commanded attention in the room, her tall, straight stature reminding Akira of a military commander.

 

From what Akira knew of her from his research, Dr. Nakamura was a strict woman who first made her name as a top-scoring medical student nationally in America before she moved to Japan with her grandfather and easily swiped another medical license in psychiatry in Tokyo. Now at forty-six years of age, her reputation was near impeccable as a top performing psychiatrist with a focus in neurology and her current family background wasn’t half bad either: she has been married to an attorney and partner of a law firm specialized in criminal defense for almost ten years and both their parents were well known for being actively involved in local politics in Okinawa and in Los Angeles.

 

The ashen blonde woman was the first to bow in greetings to Akira, and he was quick to follow. Dr. Nakamura’s voice was deep, yet not husky as she questioned,

 

“You must be Kurusu-san. The detective I’ve been talking to on the phone?”

 

“Yes, Nakamura-san.”

 

The doctor’s face remained stoic as her head jerked in a short nod. She gestured for him to follow as she turned on her heel. “Let’s talk in my office.”

 

The office was brightly lit when Akira silently stepped through the doorway as she held the door open for him. The door clicked shut as she added, “Please, take a seat. Would you like any tea or coffee, Kurusu-san?”

 

Akira shook his head in negative as he slid into one of the two red leather chairs seated in front of the black desk. The space of the office was contemporary: though the chairs were red and leather, they lacked any ornate designs. The gloomy light of the overcast sky and the surrounding dark buildings filtered in through the large uncovered windows and reflected mirror-like on the smooth black desk where a rectangular vase of lilies sat. A small card of black messy handwriting lied beside the vase, and upon closer inspection Akira saw that at the bottom was written in English, “ _Love, your caring husband._ ” Disinterested, he glanced at the white, clean walls decorated with minimalist art pieces depicting flowers in bloom and black ink blots.

 

Dr. Nakamura broke the silence as she sat in the office chair seated across from him and commented, “The Rorschach inkblot test on the walls is really just for show. It has fallen out of use in the past few decades.”

 

Akira’s attention broke away from the hanging art and returned to Dr. Nakamura. “Ah, I’ve heard. My degree is actually in criminal psychology.”

 

Surprise glimmered in her eyes but her face showed nothing more than slight curiosity. She leaned forward and propped her elbows on her desk. Her eyes narrowed as something sharp flashed within them. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware that SIU would be sending a criminal profiler so soon.”

 

“Oh!” Akira’s eyes widened. An awkward chuckle escaped his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck out of habit, “I’m not here as a criminal profiler. I’m just a Special Investigator who is assigned to handle both criminal profiling and detective work. We haven’t determined a prime suspect yet, so I’m only here to ask about the patients.”

 

Dr. Nakamura’s eyes burrowed into Akira’s for what seemed like eternity before finally her muscles relaxed. Akira didn’t realize she had tensed in the first place. A soft sigh came from her and she pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear when it fell from her somewhat messy bun. “Fine. I can’t talk about each patient individually because of patient-doctor confidentiality, but I will do my best to help.”

 

Akira nodded, taking out a yellow paper pad and his pen. He questioned, “Tell me what you know.”

 

“I know that you’re here about the string of sudden comatose patients,” she leaned back in her chair, arms crossing themselves over her chest. “I can also tell you that I’m not involved.”

 

“Why were these patients seeing you?”

 

Her lips twitched. “Can’t answer that. You’d have to ask their families about that.”

 

His eyes were serious as he replied, “From what we’ve learned from three of the families, Yamaki Suzumi, Ito Takumi, and Ginki Kaoru were seeing you about their anxiety. They were also taking a new prescription signed in your name in the past few months.”

 

The faint amusement faded from Dr. Nakamura’s face all at once as her lips pursed in annoyance. “So have the other three victims. However, there are at least fifteen others who have been on the same medication for longer and they are completely stable with daily doses.”

 

The investigator took pause as he took note of her words on his pad before looking up with a raised eyebrow. “‘Victims?’”

 

She was quick to respond, “Yes! It’s impossible for all of this to be a coincidence nor a fault in the pharmaceutical company I got this new medication from. It has to be someone who wants to drag my name through the mud by framing me for this.”

 

Akira’s eyebrows raised even further. “Why would someone want to frame you?”

 

“Hah!” the doctor scoffed. “Even though I’ve been named as one of the top psychiatrists in this ward, there are people who are adversaries of my husband and I, especially since our families have had scandals back in the ‘90s.”

 

Akira didn’t come across this in his research, but he remained silent and continued to listen.

 

“Daisuke, my husband, has had problems with getting where he is now because his father got involved with a tycoon’s mistress—” she paused, flustered, and added, “I’m afraid I can’t give any names lest word gets out. I hope you understand.”

 

Akira just nodded and gestured for her to continue.

 

“If you’ve read any of the tabloids, journalists will take any chance to blame any harm my patients come to on me at the single shred of evidence. If they hear about these comatose victims and the prescription, they will claim I poisoned these patients. This isn’t the first time this has happened either; eight years ago tabloids were trying to blame those mental shutdowns on me just because two of my patients had a mental shutdown.”

 

Akira’s grip on my his pen tightened, but he forced all thoughts of the Phantom Thieves and the Metaverse to the periphery. “Do you have any suspicions about any individuals who would profit from this?”

 

“I can’t be sure,” she shook her head with a frustrated sigh. “Maybe Shirokane Mental Care; they are our competitors after all but I can’t see any doctor in their right mind who would mess with patient’s lives like this just for an economic edge. It goes against the moral code. But…”

 

Her voice trailed off as she averted her gaze in thought, eyebrows furrowed. Her frown deepened the shadows of age carved in her face as though she were made of stone. Akira watched quietly, patient as she collected her thoughts.

 

When she returned her gaze to meet Akira’s, her silver eyes were hard and determined. “I would like you to look into the Nagakawa family,” she bowed her head and her voice weakened slightly, “Please.”

 

“Might this family be…?” Akira let his voice trail off, knowing Dr. Nakamura knew exactly his question.

 

A sardonic smile pulled on her lips. “Yes. I know it may be a weak lead, detective, but…”

 

Akira shook his head. “Any lead is better than none, Nakamura-san. Thank you for your cooperation.”

 

“Kurusu-san—also, here.”

 

As he stood, the doctor tossed him a bottle of medicine. He caught it in midair and gave it an experimental shake, hearing only a few pills inside.

 

“This is for the CSI department, so they can see for themselves that it’s not the medication that poisoned the victims,” she explained, “If it helps any, the victims’ anxiety inexplicably worsened within a month of their induced comas so I had to increase their pill count per bottle—within safety regulations, of course. I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more about why their conditions worsened without breaking confidentiality; I’m already bending the rules here.”

 

Akira nodded and gave a small bow. “Thank you, Nakamura-san.”

She smiled. “Give me a call if you need any more help. I hope you succeed in hunting down whomever’s behind this.”

 

Their farewells were short and Akira made his way outside with his umbrella stowed away now that the rain had stopped temporarily. Another look at his phone revealed it was _3:38 PM_ ; he still had to swing by the store to get sushi for Morgana now that the cat was staying most of the time at his small apartment since Ann was spending more time abroad in Taiwan and South Korea for her modelling jobs. He let the screen turn to black and slipped it back into his pocket before turning to head to the train station, but the sound of running footsteps rushing toward him from behind stopped him.

 

“Excuse me, sir!” A hand tugged on his sleeve just as he turned to face whoever chased after him, a high voice of a teenage girl’s panting as though she had been running. Akira blinked in surprise at the girl a whole head shorter than he was, dressed in a forest green rain jacket over the black and plaid uniform of Shujin Academy. Her brown hair was a bit mussed from the rain and the running.

 

“Yes?” the investigator questioned after a pregnant pause.

 

The girl sucked in a breath, as though she was about to cry, before letting it out and shaking her head. She looked up at him and replied, “My name is Yamaki Chihiro and my sister is a victim in your investigation. Please let me help you!”


	2. 28/02/2024

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something sinister may be connected to the string of comas after all.

_February 28th 2024_

 

The girl was sniffling across the small table at the cafe as she pulled napkins from the dispenser set near the window wiping at the mixture of panicked tears and rain from her face. Akira was quiet as he waited for her to compose herself.

 

Unexpectedly just before Akira could hear Yamaki-chan’s story the rain started up again in a downpour so they ducked into the nearest cafe to continue their discussion. Out of courtesy, Akira ordered a hot cup of black coffee, but he found that the dark drink was tasteless and set it back down on the table without a second glance. He looked back to Chihiro as she brushed her bangs out of her face so they were no longer sticking to her forehead. By now, her sniffles decreased in intensity and she looked back to Akira in embarrassment, speaking quietly, “Sorry I broke down a bit…”

 

Akira shook his head. “There’s no need to apologize. You’ve been through a lot.”

 

“Thank you for your kind words, detective-san. I just heard that there was a detective in the area who’s looking into this and I just jumped you back there assuming,” the girl averted her black eyes as she fiddled with the ends of her plaid pleated skirt, “But I’m glad I found the right guy. I’m sorry, what was your name? I was too excited that I forgot to ask earlier.”

 

“Kurusu Akira, Special Investigator. It’s a pleasure.”

 

Her eyes widened and she straightened her back as though to recollect a sense of professionalism. “Special Investigator? I had no idea this case was that important.”

 

“Well, the TMPD is busy with several cases of their own so the work has to be spread out,” Akira replied, voice calm as he let out a small laugh, “You don’t need to worry so much over this, Yamaki-chan. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

 

“Right,” Chihiro relaxed somewhat, but she still found herself distracted by tracing the patterns on the ceramic vase on the table with a single green carnation. She took a deep breath before speaking, “Suzumi is two years younger than me, but she just finished her first year at Shujin. She’s top of her class—much better than I am as a rising third year—but she’s been having problems—not the delinquent kind, just… More personal, I guess.

 

"Our dad died in a train accident about nine years ago, but neither of us really bounced back afterwards. So, Suzumi has been seeing Dr. Nakamura since she was thirteen—for two years now, just about. She was mostly fine after taking meds for her anxiety attacks and she has been the best she’s ever been in the past six months. What really gets me is why she started shutting me out and just lashing out at me in this past month. It’s almost as if she just made a complete switch in personality, you know?”

 

Akira’s eyebrows furrowed for a second before relaxing back into an expression of neutrality. Somehow all of this sounded familiar, but something still wasn’t right. He ignored the feeling in favor of questioning, “Did you notice anything that may have caused this shift?”

 

Chihiro pursed her lips in thought as she gazed out the window at the rainy street where several pedestrians shuffled along with a rainbow of umbrellas. She finally said, looking back to Akira, “It’s hard to say. She hasn’t really told me that much about her personal life.” The girl visibly deflated.

 

Akira nodded. He was beginning to feel that this conversation wasn’t going anywhere, so he reached into his pocket for his business card. “Well, Yamaki-chan, I’m thankful for your help. If you come across any new informations, you can always call my phone.”

 

“Ah, thank you, Kurusu-san,” Chihiro nodded as she accepted his card, eyebrows furrowed again in thought. Just as Akira was about to ask a passing waiter for a check to pay for his coffee, she suddenly jumped and slammed her hands on the table, startling Akira and the waiter. Eyes wide and practically sparkling with an epiphany, she cried, “Oh, that’s it! Kurusu-san, I remember now!”

 

Akira blinked at the teenager, leaning away slightly from her exuberance in his seat. “Yes?”

 

“Hold on, let me find it in my bag,” Chihiro reached her arm elbow deep into her white canvas messenger bag and rummaged through it for a long moment before taking out a slightly crumpled business card with black and green lettering on it. She slid it across the table for Akira to take a better look. “I found this in our apartment after it fell out of Suzumi’s bag a few weeks ago.”

 

The detective gingerly picked up the card, noting its heavy paper texture and the deep creases that almost faded some of the letters. In bold print with a decorative design reminiscent of a computer chip and a rising black circle—a sun motif he presumed—behind was a simple name: Cybusnet. Beneath the stylish letters were multiple phone numbers in small print denoting general customer service in different languages. He turned the card over in his hands and observed messy writing scrawled in blue ink on the back of the card.

 

On it was written another phone number with a smudged name beside it. Akira had to squint slightly to make sense of the words. The name beside the number read Ito Takumi—one of the other comatose patients? Unfortunately, he struggled to discern anything else except for what looked like written office hours and the word study. He questioned aloud to himself, “A study?”

 

Chihiro replied, “Well, Suzumi was working on a school project where she had to interview someone and she talked to Ito-san—he’s our neighbor—since he works at Cybusnet as a computer engineer, I think. When she finished her project, Ito-san asked her if she was willing to participate in some study about artificial intelligence or psychology and after talking to mom she got permission to be a participant. I don’t know that much about it because Cybusnet asked her to sign some agreement that didn’t let her say anything until they publish their research, but I just found it strange because it wasn’t long after the study started that she changed.”

 

Akira listened to her words intently as his expression grew more serious. “That is definitely something I will look into. Can I take this card with me as evidence?”

 

“Of course!” she nodded, her drying ponytail bouncing with the vigor.

 

“I appreciate your help. Again, you can call if needed,” Akira smiled at Chihiro before standing. “Will you be okay in the rain? Would you like me to walk you home?”

 

The teenager shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, Kurusu-san. I’m actually meeting up with a friend down the block soon, so there’s no need. Thank you for listening to me.”

 

The detective nodded and bid farewell to her with a wave before he stepped out into the rain and opened his umbrella.  
_4:13 PM_. Morgana will probably complain later but he had a few stops to make.

 

\--

 

The lab was less busy than usual when Akira entered the unfamiliar department. The crime scene investigations department was colder than he was used to at the SIU’s floor: the lighting was blindingly white. Most of the decor was sharp and metallic, vigorously cleaned with disinfectants that irradiated the air with its distinctly chemical lemon scent. Somehow, the rain outside made the place gloomier than it already was, though the detective was glad he wouldn’t have to visit the morgue again. The thought of all the bodies lined up and refrigerated under white sheets unnerved Akira, and the coroner’s unusually cheery disposition and dark humor made it even worse. Apparently it came with the years of experience, but Akira didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, the fact that he rarely gets murder cases notwithstanding.

 

“Hey, Akira!” Akira’s thoughts were interrupted as a man few years his senior opened the glass door leading into the biological lab, where it was maintained at cool temperatures. He met the man’s cheerful grin with a smile of his own.

 

“What’s up, Louis?”

 

Louis stood almost half a head taller than Akira and stood out from the other employees working in the department with his ruffled honey brown hair and large, squarish features. Despite his constant levity, Louis was best at what he did in the lab, though he avoids field work like the plague—something his superiors have been trying to get him to do, but as per what he proclaimed to Akira, he prefers the safety of the lab to the possibility of getting attacked on the job, which Louis constantly worries over Akira about.

 

Louis gestured for Akira to enter the lab as he replied, “One of the usual slow days. I can clock out earlier so that’s a plus. New case, I take it?”

 

The investigator nodded silently before he stepped over to the counter and placed the medicine bottle on the cold surface. “For the new string of comas. Three of the patients were confirmed to have been on this medication signed off by Dr. Nakamura Chou.”

 

“Sounds like a high profile case.” Louis hummed as he lifted the bottle for a closer look. He skimmed the bottle’s white label before raising an eyebrow. He clicked his tongue and commented, “Laxidae. I’ve heard of it, but I didn’t think that it’d become popular among top doctors this early.”

 

“What have you heard about Laxidae?” the detective inquired.

 

Louis gave Akira a sidelong glance as he went to the cabinet to retrieve a couple of evidence bags. He replied as he twisted the bottle open and shook the pills into one of the bags, “Only the basic stuff. Apparently it’s comparable to Xanax and Valium, but supposedly the company that manufactures it claims that patients can rely on it long term without too many concerning effects. All I can say is that it’d be pretty damn hard to abuse it, but what can I say? Lots of addicts out there.”

 

Akira leaned against the counter as he watched the CSI store the evidence in one of the shelves. “Do you know which company it is?”

 

Louis paused in his motions, tapping his chin in thought. “Well, I know there are a handful of companies distributing it, but I’m not too sure about the manufacturer. I think it is Cybus Health? You know, the pharmaceutical research branch of Cybusnet.”

 

“... _Cybusnet_?” Akira repeated, the incredulity in his voice hardly masked.

 

The brunet stared curiously at the investigator, but he didn’t press Akira about his reaction. “Well, yeah. The company’s been around since ‘98 plus it’s a major corporation. I wouldn’t put it past Kitaya Sora to branch out so ambitiously. After all, everyone’s been saying that he’s the next Bill Gates—wait, strike that. Technically he’s more like the next Pony Ma since Cybusnet is really just Japan’s Tencent. Or maybe Elon Musk since he’s an inventor too. But then again, he isn’t really comparable to anyone considering he’s more of an artificial intelligence kind of guy…”

 

As Louis started to prattle off on a tangent, Akira mentally filed away this information for when he looks into the company later. When Louis came to a stop as he faced a dilemma of whom to compare CEO Kitaya Sora to, Akira broke him from his thoughts. “I haven’t been really keeping up with the corporate world. Cybusnet is a technology company, right?”

 

The CSI let out a small laugh. “That’s just a summary, but yeah. It started as a software venture to fill in the niche of self-organizing databases, which is basically instead of typing keywords yourself to sort items the software does it for you by scanning common words in the file and sorting it into folders by tags. But then other companies started copying Kitaya’s idea so he delved deeper into artificial intelligence to improve his software and expand into all kinds of other things. He wasn’t the one who started this whole AI business, but thus far I think he’s the most successful in the business since gaming companies have been taking his AI research and developments and applying them in their new MMOs so the NPCs are less scripted. Plus, I’ve heard that private space exploration companies have been working with Cybusnet about sending AI’s with the Mars colonization missions in the next few years, but those are just rumors of course; I don’t think there’s anything official on Flutter or the actual website yet, though…”

 

“Sounds like Cybusnet’s gonna be the next corporate titan.”

 

Louis replied, “I guess so, if it isn’t already. But who cares about cash really? Its research is ground-breaking.”

 

“Nerd.” Akira teased.

 

“Takes one to know one, detective.” Louis rolled his eyes, but a small smile still made its way onto his lips. “I’ll give you a call when I have the analysis report done. I should be able to get it to you this Thursday.”

 

“Thanks, Louis.” Akira nodded in gratitude as he began to back away to leave.

 

The CSI added, “Hey, wanna grab dinner sometime this week? There’s a nice tsukiyaki place that opened down the street.”

 

“Ann’s not due back until March 7th.”

 

“What? No.” Louis almost knocked over a bottle of phenolphthalein as he was rearranging the cabinet of chemicals, nearly staining his clothes pink. His cheeks, however, glowed red without the aid of the offending chemicals.

 

“But Ryuji might be free.” The detective carried on with a nonchalant tone, his lips twitching into a smirk. Louis generally wasn’t easy to rile up except in rare cases like these.

 

“God, I regret telling you about my types. I already told you that I’m gonna try being single for a year, didn’t I?” Louis groaned.

 

“Sure, Jan.”

 

Louis’s eyes flashed in annoyance as he grabbed the nearest bottle of chemicals in a threat to chuck it at the offending investigator’s head. “No archaic memes in my lab!”

 

Akira let out a laugh before replying, “Okay, sorry, I won’t say anything more.” He mimed zipping his lips before waving good-bye, “Text me whenever you’re free.”

 

“Sure will. Good luck, Akira.” Louis let out a sigh before waving at Akira with an exasperated expression.

 

While Akira didn’t doubt that Louis could poison him, antagonizing the crime scene investigation department was becoming a tradition for him nowadays. It was already a quarter til _6 PM_ when he left the building and the sky was still overcast with hints of orange sunlight peeking through and basking the city in its rays that resembled the dying embers of a campfire. The rain had disappeared altogether, though the streets remained soaked in the sky’s tears. The streets were less packed than earlier, yet the peace of the light reflecting from the wet streets was disturbed by pedestrians who were headed home after a day’s work.

 

His apartment was ways away from Chiyoda-ku, being in the Setagaya ward just outside of Yongen-jaya where the station was easily accessible for commuting to work. He would have considered getting an apartment closer to the department so it wouldn’t take almost 25 minutes on the train, but he was still considered a rookie criminal profiler at the SIU and hadn’t gotten enough of a raise nor enough cases that requires him to be on call 24/7.

 

Not to mention he still had to cater to Morgana’s expensive tastes in sushi now that his paycheck was significantly better than when he was still at the florist shop and in his free time he has learned to make sushi on his own as a favor from a chef a few years back—not that what he did for the elderly man was exactly legal but it was worth pulling in some of his connections in law enforcement to get the chef’s son out of trouble with the mafia since the boy was naive and got sucked into a massive drug trafficking plot.

 

Akira hasn’t had the chance to treat Morgana in over a week and a half, but given this late in the hour and most of the decent fish had been picked over, he hoped the cat wouldn’t complain too much. The investigator stopped at a grocery store and bought two trays of sushi at half price since the fish likely lost some of its freshness after hours of being left in the refrigerator. When he left the store for the station, the train had arrived just on time and he slipped through the throngs of people to stand near the end where there was some space for him to breathe. As the train began moving once the doors slid shut and a female voice chimed over the speakers that the train was headed for Setagaya, Akira pulled out his phone to check his work email for what Makoto had promised to send him on her side of the investigation.

 

He swiped down on his screen after entered his passcode and tapped on the internet networks, since he made it his goal to limit the data usage on his cellphone. When the list was pulled up, his thumb hovered over the screen and he blinked in slight surprise down at his phone.

 

Instead of the train network showing up, or any other phone networks for that matter, there was only one internet network.

 

“Cybusworks?” Akira read from the screen, his voice a soft murmur. Without even touching his screen, the white letters on the gray menu became illegible as his vision suddenly blurred. A piercing pain like a knife tearing through his flesh ruptured through the side of his skull in a blinding flash, and he clutched at his head with an unrestrained wince while squeezing his eyes shut to ride out the waves of pain.

 

From behind the darkness of his lids, the train’s movement came to a halt and he felt himself stumbling. He blindingly reached out and grabbed one of the poles before he could fall on his face and possibly crack open his skull—he’d rather not go to the hospital again after that last time when he was stabbed by that serial burglar last year—as a deafening screech from the train’s wheels and the tracks reverberated through him like nails on a chalkboard. As the pain faded and the screeching quieted when the train came to a final stop, Akira blinked open his eyes and he immediately froze, eyes widening.

 

No one was on the train. All the passengers had disappeared without a trace, without a single sound. While that explained why he didn’t hear any screaming, it did nothing to calm his unease. The train car was deathly silent and the faint lights outside the windows lighting the dark tunnel flickered unnaturally. Akira turned his head, craning his neck to see anything past the car he was in. There was no one in the other cars either.

 

Akira felt his heart quicken and could hear the blood rushing through his ears as worry began to set in. Something cold brushed past him and he recoiled, immediately spinning to face whatever it was that made contact with him. As he looked down the row of empty seats, there was nothing to see except a lone empty water bottle resting in the aisle, rocking back and forth slightly as though it had just rolled to a stop a few seconds ago. A shadow flashed by in his periphery and he jerked his head to his left, staring at his reflection in the window.

 

Behind his reflection was a short teenage girl with long black hair that flowed down her shoulders, partially tied back so it left her face uncovered. She looked like she was wearing some school uniform, but there was a fog-like quality to her reflection that made it difficult to see which school it belonged to. Wide yellow eyes with dark circles beneath them stared at him in the window’s reflection, almost fearful. Her mouth moved, but no sound left her lips. Akira squinted as he looked closer at her lips to see what she was saying.

 

 _Help me._ A tear dripped from her eye and rolled down her cheek.

 

Footsteps yanked his attention from the window and he snapped his head back to the aisle. Surprised gray eyes met just as shocked yellow ones. A man donned in a pristine white suit and a pinstripe button up shirt stood a distance away at the other end of the car. In his black gloved hands grasped what looked like a faceless white mask with a large multicolored, stylistic question mark printed on it and a white fedora with a spring green sash tied around it. The man himself, aside from his awkward fashion, was strange-looking himself as though he wasn’t human: his dark green hair, contrasting his paper white skin, was slicked back with grease with a few strands unwilling to comply and falling onto his forehead. His yellow eyes were almost owlish.

 

The man stepped forward, blinking the shock away and opened his mouth with question in his eyes. Before Akira could hear him speak, the train jerked back into motion and he found himself stumbling, blinking in surprise.

 

He crashed into another form, and a voice snapped at him, “Watch it!’

 

Akira paused as he straightened, shaking himself out of his stupor. The normal volume of the train had returned. All the passengers were there, albeit some of them were staring at him suspiciously. He looked to the disgruntled businessman he crashed into and murmured an apology before he checked back at his phone.

 

The name _Cybusworks_ had disappeared from the network menu, replaced by the train’s network and at least ten other phone networks.

 

What the _hell_ just happened?

 

\--

 

The detective and Morgana sat on the couch while the TV was on, the news network playing on the screen.

 

Morgana looked at the sad tray of raw fish that wasn’t even raw enough to his standards with a disappointed sigh—Akira wondered if he would prefer live fish if that were the case, but the last time he voiced this to Morgana, the black cat just hissed at the mere thought. As Morgana chewed at a slice of salmon sashimi, Akira stared absently at the screen.

 

“Something bothering you, Akira?” Morgana asked once he swallowed his bite, blue eyes curious. Akira looked to Morgana in thought before he deflated and slouched into the black couch cushions.

 

“Could the Metaverse still exist?”

 

Morgana jumped and bristled slightly at the question. “Of course not! It was created by Yaldabaoth and we defeated him.”

 

“But what if something similar was created? It has been eight years after all,” Akira pointed out.

 

Morgana opened his mouth, about to yowl another negative before his mouth clicked shut. He looked away in thought (if he had eyebrows, Akira was certain they’d be furrowed) for a long moment. He finally replied, “Well, that’s hard to say. It’s possible, I guess, but that would mean there are dangerous forces at play again. Why do you bring this up?”

 

Akira was speechless for a moment, uncertain how to explain that strange events earlier that evening. “For starters, it happened on the train back. I was about to connect to the internet, but for some reason only one showed up—Cybusworks.”

 

He told the story in as much detail as he could to Morgana, and the cat only looked more troubled when he finished.

 

“Yellow eyes… Those must be shadows. But that green-haired one sounds awfully suspicious.”

 

Akira nodded and agreed, “I thought so too.”

 

“Is that network still on your phone?”

 

Akira slid the phone from his pocket and unlocked it, swiping down to look at the internet network menu again. There were several networks including his home network but none were listed as Cybusworks. “No.”

 

“We should go on the train again this weekend and see if we can find the network again. We should bring Ryuji or Makoto just in case.” Morgana suggested.

 

“It’s a good idea, but we don’t know much about this new Metaverse. My form didn’t change, so we might be in more danger, but let’s give it a shot,” Akira nodded before he added, “The investigation might be linked to this.”

 

“I hope this won’t turn out what we’re thinking it is,” Morgana’s ears bent backwards as he spoke. Akira hummed in agreement before he pulled out the crinkled business card Chihiro had given him. He examined the number on the card before he began dialing it into his phone.

 

“What’re you doing now?”

 

“I still have a few more interviews to conduct. Kitaya Sora is our next lead,” Akira replied as he listened to the ringing. There was a click of someone picking up.

 

“Hello, this is Cybusnet. How can I help you today?”

 

There was a faint smile on Akira’s lips as he replied, “This is Special Investigator Kurusu Akira with the SIU. We are conducting an investigation and I was wondering what times Kitaya-san would be available for an interview…”

 

He could feel himself on a roll already, but the pit of unease that had settled in his gut had yet to fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next stop is the Cybusnet headquarters.
> 
> **NEW CONFIDANTS ESTABLISHED**
> 
> _Dr. Nakamura Chou - The Fortune - Rank 1_
> 
> _Yamaki Chihiro - The Hermit - Rank 1_
> 
> _Louis Garcia - The Star - Rank ?_
> 
> Talk to me on [Tumblr](https://umbraphage.tumblr.com); I'm an outgoing introvert.


	3. 29/02/2024

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Cybusnet headquarters unravels more than Akira expects.

Akira didn’t remember when he fell asleep. Soft music reached his ears, muffled as though he was underwater. As he felt himself stir, the music became clearer and he could identify the instruments: quiet piano accompanied with violins. His eyes blinked open, vision blurry from sleep. He yawned and wondered if he had woken up before his alarm went off again, absently rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 

When his vision cleared, the high ceiling was made of blue velvet. His breath hitched and his muscles tensed. He sat up from his cot, which was remarkably less comfortable than his bed at home, and looked at his surroundings with widened eyes.

 

Igor stared at him through the bars that imprisoned him in his cell, but there was a sort of intense seriousness behind those eyes and large nose that unsettled Akira. He spoke, his light voice juxtaposing his expression, “Welcome back to the Velvet Room, contractee. I believe you have many questions.”

 

 _I am too old for this,_ Akira silently groaned to himself, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. After a moment to recollect his posture, he observed the room more closely before he replied to the man. The Velvet Room looked the same as it did eight years ago, with several prison cells lining the circular walls surrounding the desk Igor sat at. A familiar white-haired attendant—Lavenza—stood near his cell and looked at him warmly, but said nothing. However, standing near Igor’s desk was an unfamiliar man with wavy white hair older than Lavenza, wearing royal blue hospital scrubs with a crisp white coat worn over them. Sharp yellow eyes watched Akira from behind a pair of gold framed glasses.

 

Behind Igor’s desk was something that immediately perplexed the investigator: instead of a familiar empty prison cell, there was a large arched window revealing a stormy coast. In the distance was a crumbling cliff with a dirty concrete building seated on it. If Akira looked closely, it looked almost like a hospital.

 

Akira looked back to Igor as the other man spoke, “You already know Lavenza.” He gestured to the man standing beside the desk. “This is the new attendant Alexander. Of course, I didn’t bring you here again just for introductions.”

 

“What is going on?” Akira asked, feeling almost impatient at being left in the dark.

 

“I’m afraid my knowledge on the matter is rather limited. However,” Igor replied as he shuffled a deck of cards, “I require your help in light of this new situation. It’s no secret this is a concern for both of us.”

 

“You mean this new Metaverse.”

 

Igor looked back at Akira with a smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t call it a Metaverse, but it’s certainly a physical manifestation of the world’s cognition. Perhaps much larger than you’ve ever seen. But,” he pulled out several cards from the top of the shuffled deck and placed them on his desk, “It’s not your duty to find who is at the root of this. Not yet. You see, there is a new contractee.”

 

Akira raised an eyebrow and inquired, “Another Wild Card?”

 

“Indeed. As a Wild Card, you have the ability to sense others like yourself. You will no doubt encounter him soon, but be cautious. As you return as a contractee, you will forge new social links and in turn discover new personas, but there are hidden enemies that lie in wake,” Igor replied as he lifted each card one by one, “A hanged man and a tower. One sacrifices himself and another’s life is completely crumbled to dust: a rather foreboding combination if I dare say. Yet if everything follows as planned, there may be a resolution.” He held up a card tinted in blacks and greens with what looked like a white skull shrouded behind a sheer black veil. “At the cost of a drastic change. We may see this come to fruition if you are successful in deterring fate from becoming a tragedy.”

 

First, rehabilitation (though Akira couldn’t blame Igor for it), and now some vague plan to save someone’s life from turning into a tragedy. Probably the next Wild Card if he were to guess, but something nagged him in the back of his mind that this wasn’t all there is to it. He hummed, “The world’s cognition?”

 

That statement unnerved Akira. Mementos wasn’t even that large considering it manifested from only the citizens in Tokyo. If it was the whole world, he wondered just who or what could be powerful enough to be behind this. If it was the whole world, it meant there was much more to explore and many more Palaces. It only just meant more problems for him and the rest of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, if they were to be involved.

 

In his thoughts, Akira’s eyes were drawn back to the window behind Igor. The storm outside had calmed, no longer obscuring the scenery’s full view with sheets of harsh rain pelting down on the coast not unlike a rain of arrows. Somehow, though, the coast and the cliff looked even darker. Waves crashed against the foot of the cliff with such force that the white water sprayed the edge of the cliff where a lone figure stood standing barefoot.

 

The figure gazed upon the sea in white linen that was soaked through and stuck to his skin, but he stood frozen and unbothered by the cold and wet conditions as though he was carved out of marble. He might as well be a statue, for he was just as monochromatic as the coast around him with pale skin and drenched long hair that stood stark against it while it stuck to his neck. No matter how closely Akira tried to look, he could not glimpse a clear look at the figure’s face.

 

The figure turned his head and his eyes stared right back at Akira as though he knew. A smirk tugged at his sickly pale lips and he bowed his head in a nod before turning back to face the roaring sea. He raised his arms, spreading them like wings, and let himself fall from the edge and plummeted down through the air towards the ocean’s spray.

 

Akira tore his gaze from the window to look back at Igor.

 

“What is your decision, Kurusu?” the man with the hooked nose questioned. Akira let his shoulders relax with resignation.

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

“Much obliged.” Igor smiled as Lavenza held out a clipboard with a new contract through the bars for Akira to take. While Akira signed his name on the line marked with an ‘x’ and his vision began to fade to darkness, the man said, “We will be seeing each other soon. Take care.”

 

When Akira woke to the darkness of his room lit dimly by the lights of building outside and the warmth of Morgana’s sleeping form pressed against his side, his phone read it was only _3:21 AM_. Holding his breath, he swiped down and opened the menu of internet networks.

 

Still, _Cybusworks_ was nowhere to be seen. Akira sighed and let his phone fall from his hand onto his pillow.

 

\--

 

_February 29th 2024_

 

Despite Akira’s earlier disagreement and warnings about it being a long day, Morgana was adamant about joining him on his expedition through the city to interview potential witnesses. Hence why he stood outside the towering building with the green title Cybusnet gleaming down on him while the sky drizzled cool morning rain on him in his black suit with a cat wriggling in his soft leather briefcase slung over his shoulder.

 

He hissed in a low voice, “Morgana, can you stop? We’re about to go in.”

 

“Why didn’t you bring that other bag?” a soft voice complained as his bag moved some more. Others were beginning to stare at the bag that seemed to move on its own. “This one isn’t breathable!”

 

“I told you I have to bring this bag for work. I’ll let you out for a breather later, okay?” Akira whispered.

 

The cat stilled and muttered a “Fine.” Feeling bad for him, Akira unzipped the bag so fresh air was let in for Morgana. Just as the clock on his phone turned _9:30 AM_ , the investigator went in through the glass doors and stepped into the large lobby. Louis wasn’t kidding about the worth of this company: the interior of the building reflected not only its tech savviness but its cash inflow as well. The floors were made of white marble and designed with a minimalist, but extravagant style in mind: a large black halo curved around the length of the lobby, flare-like spikes curling around the outer edge similar to the sun’s rays. In the center of the halo was a smaller monochromatic starburst design, though it was somewhat obscured by a set of jewel green fabric couches and chairs seated around a glass table. There were multiple large screen TVs set around the lobby several feet above everyone standing inside, but not too far up that no one can see the screens.

 

Akira approached the lobby’s desk, which was large and circular and made of black marble. One of the secretaries looked up from his computer screen as Akira approached and smiled cheerfully. “Hello! How may I help you today?”

 

Just as Akira opened his mouth to reply, a voice spoke from behind him, “You must be Special Investigator Kurusu. It’s a pleasure.”

 

Akira turned to face the man in a navy suit standing behind him with surprise.

 

“Good morning, Kitaya-san!” the secretary chirped from behind Akira. The man waved at him with a smile.

 

“Thank you for taking care of him, Suzuki-kun,” the man nodded to the secretary before looking back to Akira with a short bow. “My name is Kitaya Sora. You called yesterday about an interview for your case.”

 

“Ah, yes.” Akira bowed back, but didn’t introduce himself since Kitaya already knew his name. Kitaya Sora, although he was pushing fifty years of age, looked barely forty with a handsome visage lacking any deep wrinkles. The only thing that betrayed his true age was the smattering of gray hairs in his dark wavy brown hair, which was messy as though it had been carded through multiple times. From what Akira researched of him online prior to the meeting, Kitaya rarely went out and spent his days couped up in the lab with fellow employees to oversee the research and development process himself or in his office with paperwork.

 

“Come join me in my office. It’ll be more comfortable there.” Kitaya suggested, brown eyes that peered at Akira from behind black framed rectangular glasses warm and open. The investigator noted the CEO was nearsighted, seeing the warped image of the man’s cheeks curve inwards. Kitaya turned on his heels and headed for the elevators further in the building, to which Akira quickly followed. As the two stepped into the elevator with another businessman, Kitaya greeted the unfamiliar man with a bright smile. He pressed for one of the upper floors as well as the floor the man was due on and once he settled back where he stood beside Akira, he checked his silver and blue watch.

 

Akira was quiet where he stood, feeling slightly tense in the elevator as soft jazz music played from the speakers. The man stepped out once the doors slid open to the fifth floor, leaving Akira and Kitaya alone.

 

“The weather’s rather gloomy.” Kitaya commented. Akira hummed in response with a nod. He took it that the CEO wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

 

Kitaya’s office wasn’t exactly bright when they entered, as the blinds were closed and left no sunlight to filter in. Instead, Kitaya simply flipped the light switch beside the door, turning on multiple light bulbs that hung from the ceiling by covered wires and casting warm light on the white walls where bulletin boards covered in messy papers, writing, and thumb tacks hung. The desk was also somewhat messy, with several papers strewn about the dark surface and covered by a closed silver laptop. Akira sat down in the chair across from the office chair, which Kitaya slid himself in with an awkward grace.

 

“I was surprised when I got that call from you. Is there a problem with my company’s procedures?” Kitaya questioned, leaning back in his seat.

 

“Not at all,” Akira shook his head as he set his briefcase on the carpeted floor. Morgana poked his nose out, eyes looking out suspiciously from the darkness within the briefcase. “I actually wanted to talk to you about the string of comas in the past month.”

 

The CEO frowned slightly, confusion in his eyes. “Oh?”

 

“One of the patients, Yamaki Suzumi, was a participant in a study your company is conducting.”

 

Kitaya’s eyes finally lit up with realization. He replied, “Ah, yes. I believe all six of the patients unexpectedly fell into a coma, didn’t they? The study has actually been paused for a few weeks because of the complications that have arisen from this. What do you need to know?”

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is this study?” Akira pulled out a pen and a pad of paper, preparing to jot down Kitaya’s words.

 

“Well, in summary, we’ve been extensively researching the effects of cognitive dissonance, among other social dilemmas, on cognition and behavior in a cross sectional population of those who have been seeing therapists for some reason or another. It was Ito Takumi’s idea to study this so we can further improve our artificially intelligent products… To make them more human-like, so to speak,” Kitaya said.

 

“What were the specific findings so far?” Akira inquired, more out of curiosity than anything else.

 

Kitaya smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. We’re in a signed contract with the participants to not share their specific analyses. If you can get their family to give us a call, I can easily email or fax their files to you. All I can do for you right now is to fax the general analyses and results thus far to your department.”

 

“Of course,” Akira nodded. Although Kitaya was warm and friendly, he seemed gated: cautious and purposeful in everything he says or refrains. “I would be thankful if you faxed them over. Moving on, can you tell me about Ito Takumi, particularly before he fell into a coma?”

 

Kitaya deflated at the name, eyes more serious. “He is—or rather was, since he was the first of the patients—the overseer of the study. Definitely a trustworthy man, at least ever since he first joined fifteen years ago. But there was certainly something odd about him in the week leading up to the incident. It’s no secret that he struggled socially—I call it social anxiety but probably not to the degree you’d see stereotypically. However, he just became more paranoid, like he was on the edge. He lashed out in anger more often, which was a surprise since he’s a hard man to rile up. He locked himself in his office a lot more often too, so no one could talk to him at all. Except for his intern, Shirogeki Haku, I mean. Shirogeki seemed like the only person he trusted during that week.”

 

Akira jotted down Ito’s behaviors. Intense paranoia, possibly result from stressful conditions. Yet, he didn’t think he could easily write it off as stress-induced anxiety if the man hasn’t exhibited it before; Ito has been a loyal employee for all these years and it seems unlikely that the stress levels would rise so suddenly. He’d have to look into the company’s past research to compare. He asked, “How do you write Shirogeki Haku’s name?”

 

“Ah, the kanji for ‘city’ and ‘play’ for his last, ‘white’ for his first.” After Akira copied it down, Kitaya spoke, “I believe Shirogeki’s in today, actually. He’s been monitoring Ito’s paperwork and cleaning up the office since Ito was carted off to the hospital. I can direct you to him, if you don’t have any more questions.”

 

“Thank you for your help, Kitaya-san. I will be keeping contact for more information if needed in the next few weeks.”

 

“It’s no problem of mine to help you in your investigation. If you don’t mind me asking, is the company under any suspicion? I just find it odd that you’d interview me about the study.”

 

The investigator replied after a second of caution, “We’re only trying to be thorough. There’s nothing to be concerned about, Kitaya-san.”

 

“Hm,” Kitaya regarded Akira’s photogenic smile with suspicion but said nothing more on the issue. Akira felt the muscles in his shoulders relax, though he still kept on guard with Kitaya. The man was terrifying behind that mask of friendly warmth. It almost reminded him of a certain ace detective years ago, but Akira once again felt a wave of irritation and shoved the thoughts back down into the dark cavernous expanse of his mind. His attention was drawn back to Kitaya when the man said, “I’ll trust you. Unfortunately, I have a meeting soon with the rest of my team to discuss our new product so I can’t take you to Ito’s office myself, but I will fax over the documents during this afternoon. His office number is 426.”

 

“Thank you, Kitaya-san,” Akira nodded before he stood from his seat. Morgana ducked his head back into the briefcase before Akira slung it back over his shoulder, mindful of the cat and careful to not handle the briefcase too roughly.

 

Kitaya smiled at Akira and stood to walk the investigator to his door. “It’s my pleasure to help. I hope you will be successful in your investigation. We’ll talk again.”

 

As the office door clicked shut behind him, Akira pondered at the CEO’s words. He seemed so sure in his tone that they would talk again. However, as much as he wanted to investigate the man more thoroughly, there was no time—not today, at least.

 

Morgana murmured from his side, “I don’t entirely trust Kitaya, but he isn’t an enemy. Not yet, anyways.”

 

A few employees in skirt suits passed by Akira and Morgana, talking avidly and giggling about mundane life. Something about a bouquet of roses being left on one of their desks.

 

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Akira replied quietly once the employees were far enough away. He stepped into the empty elevator and pressed for the fourth floor. He turned on his phone’s screen in the quiet silence of the elevator; the music had stopped. _10 AM._

 

The fourth floor was relatively quiet when he stepped off the elevator. Unlike the other floors, the lighting in the hallways was warm and the general interior decor was more welcoming: the walls were painted in deep red and multiple modern, abstract paintings hung from them in large white frames. Cozy black cushioned chairs beside potted plants lined the walls as Akira walked down the corridor, his footsteps muffled by the champagne-colored carpet.

 

Room _420…_

 

_422._

 

_424._

 

Akira came to a stop in front of the polished black door with the numbers _426_ in simple bold print in white at eye level. He stared at the door with pause, examining it more closely. Most of the doors he passed on this floor had glass doors, albeit all with closed blinds, but this door seemed oddly old-fashioned. _I hope Kitaya didn’t direct me to the janitor’s closet._

 

Although the man came across rather serious, somehow Akira had a feeling he shouldn’t put it past Kitaya to pull such a prank. The detective reached out to turn the knob and push the door open, but the door clicked and swung open, revealing a white room with walls lined with multiple bookshelves. The only piece of artwork was the one behind a drabby desk with stacks of books and binders filled to the brim with paper: a large Star Trails poster featuring a starship and main characters from the series in the 1980s. The investigator, though already taken aback by the oddball office, scratched his head in further confusion when he couldn’t figure out just how the door opened on its own accord.

 

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew his attention downward. A young man, no more than twenty if Akira had to hazard a guess, sat in a wheelchair, dressed in a gray button up shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a black tie and black trousers. The man smiled at him, black eyes bright yet surprised to see a visitor. He greeted, “Hello. Ito-san hasn’t been in for a few weeks, so you’ll have to arrange another meeting once he’s let out of the hospital. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

 

Akira shook his head and replied, “Ah, I’m not here for Ito, actually. I’m Special Investigator Kurusu Akira and I was wondering if I could speak with you about the events leading up to Ito’s coma.”

 

The man’s eyes widened before he pushed his wheels, moving back so Akira could have space to enter. “Alright. Come on in, then. I’m Shirogeki Haku, Ito’s intern.”

 

“How long have you been his intern?” Akira sat down at the chair in front of the desk as Shirogeki rolled to a stop nearby. The investigator’s eyes trailed to the desk, honing in on a gray figurine of a starship on the surface. Was that… The _Century Eagle_ from Star Battles?

 

He suspected that Ito might give Futaba a run for her money as a nerd, with all the science fiction memorabilia dotting the shelves.

 

Shirogeki replied to his question, “I’ve been here since spring actually. It was pretty lucky that I got to be an intern at the start of freshman year.” Interestingly, at this distance his eyes didn’t look so black as it was just a tad lighter than midnight blue.

 

“You’re in college?”

 

The young man nodded. He said, “I’m studying at Tokyo U right now for my bachelors in computer science.” Shirogeki paused, looking like he was debating with himself, before continuing, “If you don’t mind me asking, Kurusu-san, why is the SIU looking into Ito’s coma?”

 

Akira watched Shirogeki for a moment. Something about the college student struck out at him, but he wasn’t sure what. Perhaps it was the sickly, almost deathly pale skin and the dark circles beneath his eyes? He finally replied in honesty, “Ito’s coma is just one of the six inexplicable comas in the past month. We suspect it may be foul play.”

 

Shirogeki frowned. “Who would want to hurt Ito and the others?”

 

Akira shrugged. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

 

The college student was quiet for a moment before he nodded. He said, tone determined, “I will tell you anything I know.”

 

“What did you observe from Ito in the days leading up to his coma?”

 

“Well, I guess you can say he was a bit worse for wear in general, like he didn’t get any sleep. He was really paranoid and just got really secretive about his work, mumbling to himself about it getting stolen. At that point, he didn’t trust anyone to touch his binders except for me and, to a certain extent, Kitaya,” Shirogeki recounted with a furrow in his brow. He ran his hand through his limp black hair, slightly loosening the low ponytail it was tied back in, and let out a breath as he recalled what were likely worrisome memories. “What was really strange was that he kept on mumbling the strangest things…”

 

After Shirogeki’s voice trailed off, Akira pushed, “Like what?”

 

“It doesn’t make much sense, but he kept on talking about some reality that mirrors ours and how it’s connected by some link. I didn’t catch much else of what he said about that. But, he did keep on mentioning a name—Isshiki Wakaba. He kept rambling about how she’s still alive and something about a missing link in her research—”

 

“ _Isshiki_?” Akira’s voice raised as he paused in writing down the information, head jerking up to stare at Shirogeki with his mouth agape. A shocked “mrow” came from his briefcase sitting on the floor.

 

Shirogeki blinked at the investigator and slowly looked down at the briefcase with raised eyebrows. “Um, yeah. You know the name?”

 

“She…” Akira hesitated for a second before replying, “She was a valuable researcher in the psychology field working for the government before she passed away ten years ago.”

 

He was not about to open the can of worms that was cognitive psience. Not this early. He hoped not this early.

 

“Ah,” Shirogeki nodded. “It makes sense then that I don’t know of her; I was nine ten years ago.”

 

Akira calmed his breathing, hoping that it will in turn calm his anxious heartbeat, before waving his hand for Shirogeki to continue. “Please go on.”

 

It took a moment for Shirogeki to recollect his thoughts before he continued, “His ramblings weren’t the most concerning.”

 

If only Shirogeki knew the truth. Akira wanted to laugh or cry. He wasn’t sure which.

 

“The thing was that he told me that he kept on seeing his wife late at night. But she committed suicide twelve years ago and he has never seen her image except in dreams. Until this last month, at least. It got so bad that he started seeing hallucinations of her in the office after nightfall, just wandering around or in the worst case scenario, just hanging from the ceiling. What’s really unsettling is that every time he sees her, she has yellow eyes.”

 

A cognition? Akira refrained from openly showing his worry; his slip-up with being startled at Isshiki Wakaba’s mention was enough already. Everything Shirogeki was saying was consistent with a cognition, but it made no sense why a cognition would manifest itself a a hallucination in reality like that. Akira absent-mindedly tapped his pen against the yellow legal pad as he looked back at Shirogeki, who seemed to look at Akira with mild concern. “What about the day of his coma?”

 

Shirogeki shifted in his wheelchair, chewing the inside of his mouth. He replied, “It was a pretty normal day, but Ito acted even more strangely. He just got up from his desk and ran out. I chased after him to the end of the corridor and he just screamed, ‘Get away from me! Get away from me! Take off that mask, you monster!’ He collapsed right after that and after I called 119 and the ambulance took him to the hospital, he was announced to be in a coma.”

 

“Mask?” Akira repeated as he jotted this down. On the pad, he circled the kanji ‘mask’ and ‘monster’ before drawing a line between the two and scribbling beneath it, ‘A shadow?’

 

“Yeah. It’s really weird because I saw that he was sketching two characters in his journal, one with a blank mask with a question mark on it and another with a gas mask, kinda like the ones you’d see from World War II.”

 

Akira stopped dead in his writing. A question mark? Like that man on the train? He asked, fingers almost twitching with eagerness, “Is his journal here? May I look at it?”

 

“Of course,” Shirogeki agreed. He looked to the shelf near the desk, pausing, before he looked back at Akira and smiled sheepishly. “Kurusu-san, could you help me up?”

 

“Sure,” Akira stood and extended his hands. Shirogeki took them and pulled himself up—his fingers were cold enough to match his pallor—before swaying. The investigator placed his hands on Shirogeki’s upper arms to help steady him. “You okay?”

 

Shirogeki laughed, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. The college student stood the same height as Akira, now that he was standing. He responded, “I just get really faint at the end of every month so I have to rely on my wheelchair more often to get around without passing out. I’ll be fine in a few days when I get my blood transfusion.”

 

Akira nodded, the statement raising more questions but he dared not intrude on the student’s privacy. Whatever condition he had, it must be serious with the implications that he had to return to the hospital every month. Shirogeki walked to the shelf and thumbed through the spines of the books before finally pulling out a plain brown leather one. He returned to Akira, giving it to the investigator.

 

“You can actually take this with you if you need it. It’s not his personal journal and it doesn’t cover sensitive information, so it should be fine if you take it as evidence,” Shirogeki said. He pointed out, “I figure it’ll take awhile for you to comb through the whole thing and you probably don’t want to stay here the whole day.”

 

“Thank you,” Akira set the journal aside to put in the briefcase later. “Moving on, could you tell me anything about the study Ito was conducting before he fell into a coma?”

 

Shirogeki shook his head, apologetic. He replied, “Sorry, I’m only an intern so I’m not let in on much insider information at all. But, what I can tell you is that Kitaya is trying to use the results of the research to start the Tenori project from scratch again.”

 

“Kitaya?” Akira raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was Ito’s idea?”

 

Shirogeki’s lips pulled in a sardonic smirk for a moment before disappearing. “I guess you can say that. Technically speaking, it’s Ito’s idea, but I think Kitaya only says that to give him face.”

 

Akira stared at Shirogeki in surprise at the bluntness before humming in thought. He asked, “What is this Tenori project?”

 

“It’s an AI project that was started in 2012, I think. The goal of it was to create an human-like AI, but it stood out from other developmental AIs because Kitaya was striving for an uncanny resemblance to humans. The thing was that Kitaya was approaching it by constructing the AI as though it was a human, so when a prototype came around in early 2017 it turned out a complete flop because Kitaya put his memories in a database and tried uploading that into the AI so it just short circuited. The project was scrapped, at least until now.”

 

“Interesting,” Akira hummed. This Tenori project was something he’d want to look into, now that he was considering a possible link between it and the comas. “Thank you for your cooperation, Shirogeki-san. Do you mind if I took pictures of the office?”

 

“Not at all; go ahead,” Shirogeki nodded in affirmation. “I’ll just stay in the background. I have some things to file away in Ito’s cabinets anyways.”

 

Shirogeki fell silent as he collected the stack of binders on the desk and carried them over to the white painted file cabinets, which he pulled open and began to take the papers from the binders to file away alphabetically. Though Shirogeki was undoubtedly emaciated with his thin build and a pallor that looked like he was about to kick the bucket any moment (Akira kept on glancing at him in concern while he walked the length of the office and examined the bookshelves, occasionally taking some journals the covered unspecific, but detailed information about the study down to snap pictures of with his small police-issued digital camera), the young man carried a certain grace where he walked and stood. Even his hands looked graceful and somewhat delicate.

 

The investigator returned his focus to the task at hand, narrowing his eyes at a particular journal dated from 2013-2014. He thumbed through the pages, skimming the words that resembled spiderwebs until his eyes fell on a familiar name: Isshiki Wakaba. He read the page dated _January 18th 2014_ slowly, index finger trailing the page line-by-line.

 

_Wakaba’s research is becoming successful and might even help our current project in building Tenori. She’s close to a breakthrough about [REDACTED], but I regret that she’s still working for the government, under Shido Masayoshi. I told her to give up her job and work for Cybusnet because I sense nothing good will come out of this, but she refuses. She says that there’s no way Sora is willing to fund that much for her research, but as much as I want to disagree, she’s right. Sora is a good man and upholds a strict code of honor in regards to ethics, and I have to agree with his stance that cognitive psience walks the border of ethical research even though harm probably won’t come out of it. I still worry for Wakaba’s safety, but I will still do my best to help her. [DATA EXPUNGED]_

 

The passage ended there, and Akira let out a frustrated sigh, carding his fingers through his hair. While it confirmed Ito’s connection to Isshiki and his knowledge of her research, it got Akira nowhere. The investigator wanted nothing more to take this journal with him so he can scour through it in more detail, but he’d have trouble explaining to the director why he was taking evidence irrelevent to the case.

 

Akira’s focus was promptly shattered by a single question: “Oh, I didn’t know you have a cat! What’s his name?”

 

And a single thought ran through his mind: _Shit._

 

Akira slowly turned to Shirogeki, feeling his bones creak as he did so, who was kneeling down beside his briefcase, in which Morgana was half out and leaning away from the student’s offending hand. He felt his hand twitch to smack himself in the forehead for something so stupid he overlooked but he refrained. Akira strode over and collected Morgana in his arms, who was more than willing to leap into them to get away from the unfamiliar person. He replied nonchalantly, “His name is Morgana. Would you like to pet him?”

 

“What? No! Akiiiiira!” Morgana yowled as Shirogeki smiled and lightly scratched behind the cat’s ears. Morgana grumbled as he instinctively leaned into the touch with great reluctance. As he purred slightly, Morgana glared at Shirogeki.

 

Akira fought the smirk that twitched at his lips. It served Morgana right for not staying put in the briefcase.

 

“I don’t think Morgana likes me very much,” Shirogeki commented.

 

“No, I don’t.” Morgana agreed.

 

“No, he likes you. He loves being petted by strangers,” Akira’s eyes glinted.

 

Another yowl. “Akiiira, why do you do this to me?”

 

Shirogeki let out a soft laugh as he started scratching Morgana’s cheek. He said, “He’s so vocal. He reminds me of my Siamese back at home in Okinawa.”

 

“Ooh, scratch a bit more there; that feels good.”

 

That was a surprise. Akira questioned, “You’re from Okinawa? You must be pretty good in picking up dialects: I can’t even hear an accent in your voice.”

 

Shirogeki sputtered, startled by the question, before shaking his head. “I’m actually from here. I spent pretty much all my elementary school years and some middle school in Setagaya-ku, but my family and I moved to Okinawa to take care of my grandparents. I’ve been back in Tokyo since I started university.”

 

“I see…” Akira nodded. The student glanced at the wall behind Akira and suddenly stiffened. Akira glanced behind him to see what Shirogeki saw and found a clock hanging from the wall that read _11:06 AM._

 

“Oh no, I lost track of time. Sorry, I have to lock the office up; I need to meet with a friend of mine for a study session soon. Thanks for letting me pet your cat.” Shirogeki nearly stumbled over himself collecting his brown messenger bag from behind the desk and tossing some folders and a couple textbooks haphazardly from the desk into it. He slung it over the back of his wheelchair.

 

A study session? This far into the month? Akira stared baffled at Shirogeki. “I thought you’re on break?”

 

“I technically am, but I’m taking an eight week spring course on Social Psychology,” Shirogeki explained as he swung on a dark red hoodie and sat down in his wheelchair. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and retrieved a white medical mask which he strapped over the lower half of his face by his ears.

 

“Sounds like you’re a hardworking student.” Akira commented as he bent down to pick up his briefcase. Morgana jumped from his arms into the bag. The student looked flustered as he turned off the lights and waited for Akira to step out before locking the door.

 

“W-well, I just do my best, that’s all,” Shirogeki said, keeping his response short. He added while shutting the door and locking it with a key attached to a black lanyard with a blue Cybusnet printed on the length, “Hey, Kurusu-san, I’m really sorry about having to cut your investigation short. I’m interning here at the same times on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays and during afternoons on Fridays, so you can always stop by.”

 

“Thank you. I’ll call ahead when I need to come.”

 

“Please do. Have a nice day, Kurusu-san!” Shirogeki waved in farewell at Akira with a smile in his eyes before disappearing down the corridor to the elevator. Akira waved back.

 

“What a weird guy,” Morgana commented as he looked out from the briefcase at Shirogeki’s retreating form with narrowed eyes.

 

“I told you, Morgana: people just can’t resist the fluff. Besides, what made you think it was a good idea to make yourself known?” Akira sighed. Morgana huffed.

 

“It was getting hot in there! Besides, I was trying not to be so obvious, but Shirogeki’s eyes are sharp. Anyways, you owe me for putting me in this bag instead of another one.”

 

The investigator sighed, deciding not to continue arguing with the cat. He replied, “Fine. You can have a whole dish to yourself during dinner tonight.”

 

\--

 

The din of the restaurant was loud as it hit the busiest hour of the day at _7:30 PM_ , but Akira and Makoto were lucky enough to get a large circular table booth nestled far enough in the back so it wouldn’t be too loud that they’d have to shout over the table when the rest of their friends came. Akira sat near the center, where he was hidden away from the aisle, and let Morgana out. The cat stretched himself out with a quiet mumble of “Freedom!” before sitting down right beside the investigator.

 

“Since the others are going to be late anyways,” Makoto started, her reddish-brown eyes exhibiting a mix of curiosity and worry, “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

 

Her tone left little wriggle room and Akira would rather not get on her bad side again in two consecutive months. Now that she was a Special Investigator, she was at least thrice as terrifying as she was back in high school even with her grown-out long hair let down casually for the evening and her suit jacket shucked off. Then again, she had to complete a whole year of intensive judo training on top of refining her skills in aikido in order to gain her proper title as a detective whereas Akira just needed to keep up a figure to be able to run from an attacker and maybe execute the bare minimum of karate, and he only had to complete a few months of training to point and shoot a gun (which he wasn’t allowed to carry except when he has to accompany police officers to neutralize a threat) because he was still only a profiler despite his title as Special Investigator. If he tried to run, Akira was certain she would be able to take him down before he got far.

 

Akira finally submitted and replied, “I found what may be the new Metaverse.”

 

“What?” Makoto hissed, leaning forward so she and Akira could talk more quietly. “When?”

 

“Yesterday evening, on the train as I was leaving Chiyoda-ku for home,” Akira replied. “I was connecting to the internet on the train, but there was only one network called Cybusworks. Before I clicked on it, I got this headache and the train just suddenly stopped, then everyone just disappeared. Except for two shadows: a girl in high school who was mouthing ‘Help me’ repeatedly and this man with green hair in a white suit. The man also had a white mask with a question mark printed on it. I only stayed for for maybe two minutes before I was knocked back into the real world, so I couldn’t learn anything.”

 

Makoto let out a shaky breath, commenting, “It’s a good thing that you weren’t attacked in there. Did your form change to Joker?”

 

Akira shook his head and Makoto rubbed her temples stressfully.

 

“This is a lot to take in, especially since our workspaces are already flooded with the investigation,” Makoto sighed.

 

“It might not be a bad idea to consider the new Metaverse during our investigation,” Akira pointed out, “I visited the Cybusnet headquarters and spoke with Kitaya Sora. I was able to go into Ito Takumi’s office and I found some journals that linked him to Futaba’s mom and her research. Plus, his intern told me that Ito was sketching portraits of a man with a question mark mask in the days leading up to the coma, just like the one I saw.”

 

“Are you serious?” Makoto frowned. “I don’t know, leader. I have a bad feeling about this; if Cybusnet is connected to this new Metaverse and the comas, it’d be hard to get anything on them. If we asked Haru for some help with intel, maybe.”

 

“We should do just that,” Akira said.

 

“We should still keep an eye on other leads, like the Nagakawa family Dr. Nakamura told you about. I did manage to secure an interview with him for tomorrow evening, so we should check up on him if he’s connected to the case at all. We need to cover all the bases in case if this turns out to be some elaborate scheme.”

 

“Hey guys!” Ryuji’s loud greeting interrupted their conversation. The man, dressed in a jacket thrown over Shujin’s school jersey denoting him as a track coach with jeans, plopped himself right down beside Akira and greeted Morgana with a pat on the head, something the cat finally got used to after a few years. “Long time no see.”

 

“Sorry we couldn’t meet up until now after New Year’s,” Akira apologized. “Work has picked up.”

 

“It’s fine, man,” Ryuji smiled, eyes softening as he patted Akira on his shoulder blade. “You two got a big case?”

 

“I guess you can say that.” Akira smiled back at his best friend. The blond (Akira was still surprised at Ryuji’s tenacity to maintain his hair coloring) was still just as bright as he was in December and early January, though he could tell he was somewhat tired; after all, school just came to an end about a week ago, leaving more work for the teachers, even the ones teaching physical education like Ryuji.

 

“If you mean big as in dangerous, then sure,” Morgana chirped. Ryuji raised an eyebrow, eyes now worried.

 

Ryuji asked, voice wavering, “What did you get yourself into?”

 

“Nothing!” Akira shook his head.

 

Makoto responded for Akira, “He came across the Metaverse yesterday and a big corporation is one of our suspects.”

 

What a traitor. Akira did not want to repeat the same story for every person when he arrived just for them to panic every time.

 

“For real?” Ryuji raised his voice, but Akira shushed him loudly. He lowered his voice, but still panicked, “The hell, man! I thought the Metaverse was done for!”

 

“It is,” Morgana replied, “We suspect it’s a new Metaverse, or something like it.”

 

Just then, the rest of the Phantom Thieves still in town sat down at the table: Haru, still dressed in a fully buttoned charcoal gray pant suit, and Futaba, dressed in her usual home garb of a green sweatshirt and black leggings beneath khaki shorts.

 

Haru apologized profusely, “Sorry I’m late! The board meeting went longer than expected because of some technical complications.”

 

Futaba’s apology was simple and honest. “I got into some Featherman R discourse with my client and forgot the time, sorry.” Akira snickered quietly and shook his head. Predictable.

 

The brief moment of peace was broken when Morgana blandly said, “Akira discovered a new Metaverse and since he’s an idiot, he might be getting into some trouble with Cybusnet.”

 

The uproar was instantaneous, especially from Haru, who knew the company’s standing. Akira didn’t know what else he was expecting. After doing his best to quiet the group down, they finally did after a few minutes of rapid-fire questions he didn’t have the chance to answer all at once and exclamations of concern for his and Makoto’s safety (Makoto, looking particularly scandalized, snapped, “I have nothing to do with this! He handles his end of the investigation and I handle mine.”). Akira took a deep breath once the group quieted and started explaining the story from the top, this time in more detail and starting with the Velvet Room.

 

It was a long-winded explanation, but Akira was glad he did so because the group looked calmer, albeit still troubled. Futaba was the first to break the silence.

 

“Wait, so if there’s a new Wild Card, there might be new persona users other than whoever he or she is,” the programmer pointed out. “That network, Cybusworks, might be like the Metaverse Navigator.”

 

“True…” Akira nodded slowly, thoughtful. “But I didn’t even click on it.”

 

It was Morgana who spoke up next. “When you and Blondie first went into the Metaverse accidentally, neither of you clicked the app. This case might be similar.”

 

Akira hummed, “That still doesn’t explain why the network disappeared.”

 

Everyone fell silent once again, but it was Makoto who suggested, “You said you were on the train from Chiyoda-ku to Setagaya-ku, right? If you remember how many minutes after the train started moving that the incident happened, you, Ryuji, Morgana, and I can go on the same train tomorrow and see if it appears at the same location.”

 

“Only you guys? I want to come too!” Futaba huffed. Akira shook his head.

 

“You said that you’re busy tomorrow, remember? You promised Sojiro to revamp the computer system for the cash register at Leblanc.”

 

“...Right. But make sure to keep me updated.”

 

Akira looked back to Makoto, tapping his chin in thought as he tried to remember the time he saw on his phone. He got on the train at almost exactly 6 PM after he bought the sushi for Morgana. Akira’s eyes slid shut as he recalled the motions and things he saw during those few minutes. He remembered stepping on the train and making a beeline for the end of the car where it was less crowded. He remembered having to balance himself when the train starting moving, slowly gaining speed. He had pulled out his phone after the train accelerated to a constant speed, feeling cool weight in his hands as he swiped down to look at the menu of internet networks.

 

“It was four minutes into the ride— _6:07 PM._ ”

 

Haru jumped on it and pulled out her phone, typing rapidly. After a moment of thinking eyes as she probably did math in her head she finally slid her phone onto the table for all to see and pointed at the map of subway lines on the screen. “That’s between Chiyoda-ku and Minato-ku.”

 

“So that’s our plan. When is a good time for us to meet up at the station tomorrow?” Akira questioned, looking between Ryuji and Makoto. Ryuji shrugged.

 

“I’m free all day, ‘kira.”

 

Makoto replied, “We need to do this earlier in the day so we can have enough time to pay a visit to Nagakawa; he lives all the way in the other end of Adachi-ku.”

 

“How’s 11:00 for you guys?”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Ryuji agreed, “Anyways, can we order yet? I’m starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to move the interview with Nagakawa Haruka to the next chapter because this was becoming a monster length chapter and I don't want to dump a 10,000+ word chapter on you guys. I hope you enjoyed! (It took every ounce of restraint to not add a Funko figure of Captain John Luck Pikkerd to the shelves)
> 
> Next chapter: A visit to the station and an interview with the mysterious Nagakawa Haruka. And... Goro?
> 
> **NEW CONFIDANT ESTABLISHED**  
>  _Shirogeki Haku - The Tower - Rank 1_
> 
> Extra info:
> 
>   * Tenori is written 天明
>   * Kitaya Sora is written 北谷昊
>   * Shirogeki Haku is written 城劇白
>   * I didn't learn what little Japanese I know (though it was less effort because Cantonese is my first language) for nothing so I'll do a masterlist of characters and info later and link it in future chapters
> 

> 
> [Tumblr](https://umbraphage.tumblr.com)


	4. 01/03/2024

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are kept and chasing a circular trail is not Akira's idea of fun.

_March 1st 2024_

 

The morning sunlight was already filtering in through the white sheer curtains when Akira awoke to a fuzzy warmth beside his head. Eyes bleary, he closed them again and nestled further under his sheets into the warmth of his bed. He mumbled, voice nearly incomprehensible, “Mom, five more minutes…”

 

He felt himself drifting back into sleep, slipping back into the comforting ocean of darkness, only for his airways to be blocked as he was smothered by a faceful of soft fur. Sputtering, he sat up and pushed off Morgana, who only glared at him in exasperation. He looked at his bedside digital clock, which read _9:07 AM._

 

“You didn’t wake after your five alarms, so I had to improvise,” Morgana huffed. He stretched himself before hopping off the bed. “I’m hungry; get me food, you lazybutt.”

 

Akira found himself wishing cats had opposable thumbs while he stretched, but quickly changed his mind. He was afraid of what Morgana might be capable of in the real world if he could swing a saber in the Metaverse; Morgana already causes enough chaos at home by knocking everything off the tables. Akira followed Morgana out of his bedroom and entered the small kitchen down the hallway, flipping the light on since the apartment was still dim with the blinds blocking the sunlight from seeping into the living room from the glass balcony door. He opened the fridge door.

 

Seeing the boxes of leftovers from last night, a stalk of spinach, and some scallions among other miscellaneous items that Akira couldn’t throw together for some curry, he sighed. He’d have to make another trip to the grocery store after he and Makoto interviewed Nagakawa. He took a pot from inside the rice cooker on the counter and bent down to open the cabinet beside the stove, pulling the twenty-five pound bag of rice out so he can measure out two cups of rice into the pot. He set to rinsing the rice before finally measuring out the water so the top of the water reached his wrist when he placed it flat and palm down on top of the rice. He was just putting the pot into the cooker when Morgana jumped on the counter.

 

“Whatcha cooking, ‘kira?”

 

“Fried rice with the rest of the veggies and the meat from leftovers last night. I hope you don’t mind; I’ll put more meat in your plate,” Akira replied.

 

“The fridge is almost empty?” Morgana guessed. Akira nodded and the cat sighed, “You have been really busy, huh. You even forgot to restock.”

 

“At least Ann will be back on Saturday so she can keep you company when I have to stay late at work,” Akira mused as he began chopping up the veggies and the meat. The cat’s tail lifted as Morgana’s eyes brightened.

 

“Oh yeah! I miss Lady Ann.”

 

It didn’t take long for Akira to finish frying the rice with a couple dashes of teriyaki sauce once the rice finished cooking, and Morgana was waiting at the small dining table set up in the living room when Akira brought out their plates. When he first started renting this one bedroom apartment in the near the end of university, Akira didn’t consider buying a dining table until he took up cooking as a hobby after Morgana started complaining that he didn’t know how to make anything other than curry—as much as Sojiro’s curry was good, it wasn’t something to eat all three meals a day, and eating out was expensive after awhile. Then, Yusuke started coming over, being the freeloader he was despite being a successful artist (not that Akira minded), then Ann, Ryuji, and Futaba became constant presences in his home. Makoto and Haru came over often as well, but at least it didn’t seem like they had taken up permanent residence in his home.

 

Akira smiled wistfully as he ate his breakfast. He missed those days before work picked up and no one had practically any time to hang out except a few times a month over lunch or dinner, maybe the occasional movie.

 

After breakfast, Akira collected their plates and washed them in the sink before setting them back on the dish rack. He excused himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth and brush through the tangled mess of his hair with a comb, then gave his face a quick wash to freshen up. As he splashed face one last time with icy cold water from the faucet to rinse away the soap, he found himself leaning forward and gripping the counter, staring at himself in the mirror with a furrow in his brow as the water dripped down to his chin.

 

While he was having more success in the first few days of this investigation than the past cases he has been assigned, he was still uneasy about it all. It was as though every step he takes forward, every bit of the string he unravels, he only finds more tangles.

 

He finally turned off the faucet and dried his face with the soft white towel hanging on the wall.

 

 _Isshiki Wakaba._ It troubled him that the name would come up again so many years after the Phantom Thieves saw to it that Yaldabaoth’s creation would fall to ruin and his control would disappear. Maybe it was a coincidence that Ito just happened to be her friend before she passed away.

 

_But it’s never that simple is it?_

 

Akira stared back at his reflection again, lips forming a thin line as he threw his towel on the counter. Reddish-brown eyes gleamed at him in the mirror behind his reflection from beneath familiar brown bangs, lips curling in a twisted smile on an ageless face. Akira could almost feel warm hands on his shoulders and lips brush against his ear.

 

_Watch yourself, Kurusu._

 

He felt himself shudder at the warning before his attention broke away from the mirror at the sound of Morgana pawing at the door from outside.

 

“Akiiira, it’s almost 10:30! Are we going yet?”

 

“I’ll be right out,” Akira called back. He glanced back at the mirror. Only his reflection stared back.

 

He really should give the psychiatrist a call next week once she was back from vacation.

 

\--

 

Akira squinted against the bright sunlight when he stepped out of the station to wait for Makoto and Ryuji to arrive, shielding his eyes with his hand. He was glad he opted for wearing one of his lighter blazers and just a white t-shirt and navy trousers, since the day was significantly warmer than the last entire week.

 

Morgana popped his head out of the bag slung over his shoulder since Akira left the zipper unzipped. A group of passing girls cooed at Morgana as they passed, and his tail twitched in pleasure at the attention.

 

Seeing this, Akira teased, “Don’t let it get to your head, Mona. You weigh more than you did last year.”

 

Morgana jumped up onto Akira’s shoulder, digging his claws in deep. Akira grimaced at the pain as Morgana raised a paw in front of his face and extended his claws in a warning. The cat hissed, “Quiet, you.”

 

“It’s all the sushi, I tell you. You’re getting spoiled,” Akira pointed out. Morgana retreated his claws with a grumble of “Am not.”

 

“Hey, ‘kira! How’s it going?” Akira and Morgana turned their heads toward Ryuji, who approached them with a wave. Makoto was not far behind him as she approached at a speed-walk, carrying a purse which an umbrella jutted out from within. In this warm weather, she had put her hair up in a messy bun.

 

She glanced at her watch on her right wrist and said, “The train to Minato-ku is coming in five minutes.”

 

Akira nodded. He asked, lowering his voice, “Did you bring weapons just in case if we encounter shadows?”

 

The two nodded. Makoto shifted her jacket to reveal a gun nestled in its holster at her side, careful so only Akira and Ryuji saw it. Akira stared with a deadpan at Makoto. Ryuji just whistled.

 

“Sometimes, I just forget you’re a cop,” Ryuji shook his head. “I just brought a couple of knives.”

 

“Since we’re ready, let’s go.”

 

Morgana ducked back into the bag as they entered the subterranean train station to wait with the small crowd of people for the train to arrive; thankfully it wasn’t rush hour so they wouldn’t be packed like sardines in the train car. It wasn’t long of a wait before the train came in through the tunnel and slowed to a stop in front of the crowd.

 

“Which car were you in last time?” Makoto asked. Akira nodded to the one toward the end of the train and headed for the open doors with his friends in tow. He lead them to the end of the car, where they sat down in the empty seats. The car they were in wasn’t too crowded, and the other passengers in the car all seemed disinterested in them, choosing to stare at their phones, read a newspaper, or listen to music. Once they were certain they weren’t being watched, they pulled out their phones just as the doors closed and the voice over the intercom announced their destination.

 

“Ready for this?” Ryuji asked, his voice wavering slightly as he swiped down on his phone screen to access the internet networks. Although they all steeled themselves for what was to come, recalling how they handled the Metaverse in the past, Akira could see the air of uncertainty surround the quartet. Akira reached over and gave Ryuji’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

 

Looking between Makoto, Ryuji, and Morgana, he said firmly, “We’re going in this together, remember that. We got each other’s backs.”

 

Feeling some of the unease melt away, they all looked at each other with determined steel in their eyes and watched their phones with a bated breath as the train accelerated to a constant speed.

 

Akira grip tightened on his phone as he waited. A minute until the location he first came across the network.

 

30 seconds.

 

He slowed his breath, counting down the seconds. 10 seconds.

 

_5..._

 

_4..._

 

_3..._

 

_2..._

 

_1._

 

Nothing happened.

 

Akira let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and slumped in his seat, turning his phone’s screen off.

 

Makoto raised an eyebrow at Akira. “Did we pass the location already?”

 

He nodded and Makoto sighed in disappointment. Morgana hummed from his bag, looking more troubled than before. The cat commented, “I really thought we would find something.”

 

“I’ll keep my eye on the phone until we get off the train, just in case.” Ryuji said quietly, eyes still hopeful. “But, after this, we should grab lunch.”

 

Lunch sounded good after going on the train for nothing.

 

The train slowed to a stop at the Minato-ku station soon after and the trio shuffled out with downtrodden spirits among the crowd. Morgana, seeing more people in the area, kept his head down and stayed quiet.

 

Ryuji sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He mumbled, “Man, this sucks.”

 

Meanwhile, Makoto stared off into space in intense thought, holding her chin. She commented, “Maybe we came at the wrong time? Akira, you said that the incident happened at 6:07, right?”

 

Ryuji immediately brightened, “Oh yeah, huh! We could try again another day but at that time.”

 

The investigator hummed, considering the idea as he stared into the crowd. He replied, “Maybe, but we won’t be able try again until our next off day next week, if we aren’t called in to the department…”

 

His voice trailed off as a glint of copper caught his eye within the crowd of people. He narrowed his eyes, craning his neck to see it more clearly. His breath hitched.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Akira barely registered Ryuji’s voice. All sounds became muffled as the beating of his heart flooded his ears.

 

Overgrown rust-colored hair tied back from a handsome face older than he last remembered. A furrow in his delicate brow as he stared down at his phone with a familiar focus that Akira remembered seeing on his face when he would read his case files at the bar of Leblanc with a steaming cup of coffee beside him. In contrast to what he remembered eight years ago—such a long time ago, it felt like an eternity—the man was dressed in an inconspicuous black sweatshirt and blue jeans, yet despite this casual attire he held himself with an air of quiet confidence.

 

“Goro?” Akira called before he could stop himself. Eyes that glinted a deep red in the sunlight raised in surprise at Akira’s voice, meeting the investigator’s gray ones. Time seemed to slow as Ryuji and Makoto let out confused exclamations and the ghost in the crowd stiffened.

 

The moment shattered when the ghost of Akechi Goro took off at a run. Akira cursed and shoved his bag to Ryuji, which Morgana yelped at the action—he’d have to apologize to Morgana later, but he was sure as hell this wasn’t another one of his hallucinations. Akira sprinted after Goro’s retreating form as Makoto and Ryuji took chase behind him. He shouted as he pushed through the crowd, “Hey, wait up!”

 

“Akira, what are you _doing?_ ”

 

He ignored the panicked shouts from his friends and the curses from those who were unlucky to be knocked off balance as he pushed past, and he focused on pushing more energy into his legs to catch up to Goro. As he was beginning to close the distance, the ghost rounded a corner on the block and he followed a few feet away. Akira crashed into a group of girls carrying shopping bags, to which they all let out shocked exclamations. Akira apologized, reaching down to grab one of the dropped bags and handing it back to one of the girl before he continued jogging ahead.

 

Akira slowed to a stop, panting as he turned left and right to search for the head of rust-colored hair in the street. He… Just disappeared?!

 

Akira cursed under his breath, kicking the brick wall of a nearby building and immediately regretting it when his toe left the contact throbbing. A pair of running footsteps came up behind him, slowing to a stop as the sound of panting breaths reached his ears. Akira could hear Ryuji raised his voice as his friend questioned, “What the hell, ‘kira? What was that? Why did you take off running like that?”

 

“Akira, you scared us back there. What’s going on?” Makoto asked, concern in her voice.

 

Akira finally turned around to face his friends, shoulders slumped as a look of complete defeat overtook his face. He rubbed his face his hand, letting out a shaky breath.

 

Morgana stared at Akira from Ryuji’s arms, ears bent in worry. “Hey, Akira, you’re looking a bit pale. Are you okay?”

 

Akira didn’t respond as he leaned against the building’s wall, feeling all energy leave him. His head began to pound. He said, voice quiet, “I saw him. He just looked so real, and… He looked older and he wasn’t dressed how he usually does during my past episodes…”

 

The irritation melted away from Ryuji and Makoto’s expressions and they looked at Akira with sadness.

 

“Akira…” Makoto rested a hand on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him. She was speechless, uncertain what else to say. After all, Akechi Goro has been dead. Akira bit back a bitter laugh; what else was he expecting? He was just too eager to chase after fragments of ghosts. _What an idiot I am..._

 

Ryuji leaned against the wall beside Akira, openly frowning now. He huffed, “Dammit. Tch, I don’t know what your doctor was thinking, taking you off those meds. They have been getting worse, haven’t they?”

 

Akira silently nodded, unable to respond as his mouth went dry. It made no sense; the fragments he’d see of Goro never felt so real, not until today, not since five years ago when he stopped waking up every night in cold sweat to the sound of two gunshots as he tried again and again to reopen the bulkhead. He felt himself slump to the ground, knees pulled to his chest as the pounding in his head intensified and he found it harder to suck in enough air into his lungs. He was vaguely aware of Ryuji and Makoto’s worried voices as they knelt down beside him, but he couldn’t decipher the words the came from their mouths. All he could see was that fateful day, when he could only stand helpless on the other side of the bulkhead.

 

Suddenly, cool hands grasped his clammy hands and he raised his eyes to meet silvery eyes on a familiar aged face. Dr. Nakamura? Her lips moved, saying something he couldn’t quite grasp but he found himself nodding in affirmation to her words. Ryuji helped him up so he was standing and they started walking, but he did not know where.

 

He was only grounded back to reality again when a cup of hot tea was placed in his hands, the smell of lavender and chamomile wafting up to his nose and calming his heart. He blinked at his surrounding, confused for a moment before he realized he was in Nakamura’s office.

 

“Does this happen a lot?” He heard Nakamura ask, but the question wasn’t directed at him.

 

“No,” Makoto replied. “He hasn’t had a panic attack like this for a few years.”

 

Akira looked to his friends, who were seated on a couch set off to the side, and Nakamura, who sat in an armchair across from where he sat. He croaked out, “What happened?”

 

Nakamura looked at him and her face visibly relaxed once she saw he had come to. She said, voice gentle, “You had a panic attack in the street back there. It was a good thing I was on lunch break and saw you guys so I can bring you up here where it’s more private for you to calm down.”

 

“I…” Akira started, blinking at the psychiatrist. “Thank you, Nakamura-san.”

 

“Just call me Chou. Would you be up for talking about it? I find that my patients feel better once they let it out. Of course, alone.”

 

Akira stared at the psychiatrist, uncertain. “I’m not in any position to change doctors at this time… Chou.”

 

Chou let out a chuckle. “Just consider it a favor from one friend to another. After all,” her expression grew serious, “Sakamoto-san here told me that you’ve been having problems with the psychiatrist you’ve been seeing. Once every four months, is that right?”

 

Akira’s eyes bored into Ryuji in an uncomfortable deadpan and the blond coughed into his hand and averted his gaze. He could hear Morgana whisper at Ryuji from the bag, “Moron.”

 

Akira finally replied, “Ah, yes. The first doctor I was seeing retired early a year and a half ago after a back injury, so I had to switch to a new one: Dr. Akamine.”

 

“Hm,” Chou leaned back in her seat, tapping her manicured fingers on her leg, which was covered in the black denim of her jean, part of her casual ensemble made of a sleeveless white mock neck shirt beneath a blue cardigan. At the mention of the name ‘Akamine,’ her gaze turned pensive for a long moment, but she said nothing about the doctor. She said, carefully formulating her sentence, “Well, I just want to let you know that you can come by anytime to discuss anything beyond your investigation, provided you call ahead first.”

 

Akira didn’t think that he’d ever be coerced into becoming someone’s patient, free of charge of all things. It also didn’t seem like she was doing this with any other ulterior motives… A shudder ran up his spine at the thought of a woman old enough to be his mother hitting on him.

 

Akira and Chou looked to Makoto when she spoke, gesturing to a photo frame propped on the small table between the armchair Chou sat in and the couch, “Chou-san, you knew Isshiki Wakaba?”

 

Eyes widening, Ryuji and Akira leaned over for a closer look. Morgana jumped from the bag onto the couch to sit beside Makoto, but the psychiatrist didn’t seem to mind the cat’s presence.

 

Chou’s eyes softened at the mention. “Yes, I did. During my last two years of university, I studied abroad at Tokyo U and I was a teacher’s assistant for one of the classes she was taking. We became friends after that, though our contact was limited for the few years before she passed. It was unfortunate that I was so focused on work that I abandoned my relationships… How did you know Wakaba?”

 

Makoto cleared her throat. “We didn’t know her personally, actually. We’re friends with her daughter, Futaba.”

 

The psychiatrist brightened. “Oh, how is she? I haven’t seen her since she was ten. I hope she is doing well; it must’ve been very hard for her to deal with the aftermath of Wakaba’s death.”

 

“She’s doing quite well, actually. She’s working as a freelancer in computer programming right now.”

 

“That’s great! She was always interested in science and engineering since she was a kid.”

 

The two women continued in their discussion, leaving Ryuji, Akira, and Morgana to just listen to Chou’s stories from Futaba’s childhood and her friendship with Wakaba. Akira wanted to question what she knew about Wakaba’s research, but bit his tongue. That was for another time. Paying half an ear to the conversation, the investigator sipped from his cup of cooling tea as he observed the office. Nothing much had changed since he left it days ago, except for a new bouquet of flowers in the vase: red roses and baby’s breath. There was another card attached to one of the stems by a string, but it was too far away for him to see its message.

 

Akira pulled himself back into the discussion when Chou had checked the clock on the wall— _12:03 AM_ , it read—and said, “Oh, I must be holding you from getting lunch. Why don’t I treat you all? I feel rude for keeping you.”

 

“It’s perfectly fine; thank you for letting us stay,” Akira replied this time. “I can’t let you treat us; Ryuji’s stomach is bottomless.”

 

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Ryuji huffed. “Besides, Morgana eats more than all of us combined. It’s why he’s getting fat—ow, sorry, I take that back!”

 

Morgana looked pleased with himself when he clawed Ryuji’s arm in retribution. Chou, watching the exchanged, chuckled. She commented, “Your cat seems to be well trained enough to understand you.” Before she could say anything more, her cellphone began ringing from her purse and she checked the caller ID. “Sorry, I have to take this call.”

 

She stood and stepped out of the office just as she took the call and responded, “Daisuke? What’s going on, honey?”

 

 _It must be her husband_ , Akira noted before looking to Ryuji and Makoto.

 

“So, ‘kira, how’re you feeling now? You really worried us when you were breaking down out there,” Ryuji asked, voice quiet. Akira looked down at his cup.

 

“Sorry about that; I shouldn’t have jumped like that. It wasn’t logical, I know,” Akira sighed. “I’m feeling better now. Thanks for being there for me, guys.”

 

“Anytime, man,” Ryuji nodded, giving Akira a reassuring smile. Morgana jumped off the couched and walked over to jump on Akira’s lap. He lightly prodded Akira’s chest.

 

“Just try not to do anything like that again, okay? You might get run over by a car, being so impulsive.”

 

Akira let out a soft chuckle. “Sure, Mona.”

 

Chou stepped back inside again, frowning now. She cleared her throat, getting their attention, before speaking, “Sorry, I have to lock up the office. There’s a family emergency and I have to leave for the rest of the day.”

 

“Of course,” Makoto nodded.

 

“We understand,” Akira added, “Thanks for having us, Chou-san.”

 

They bid their farewells once Chou turned off the lights and locked the door, the psychiatrist staying in the office for a few more minutes to check with her secretary that any appointments in the afternoon were to be moved to the next day. The sky was overcast once again when they stepped outside, casting gray shadows on the city. It didn’t feel quite humid enough that it threatened rain, however.

 

“Let’s go get lunch,” Ryuji suggested as he stretched.

 

Makoto looked between Akira and Ryuji and added, “How about the diner down the street? Their burgers are pretty good.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Akira nodded, and Morgana hummed in agreement. Just as they started to head in the direction of the restaurant, their steps faltered.

 

“Kurusu-san, Niijima-san!” a voice called from behind them. As they turned, the familiar face of Arisato Minato became clear as the man made his way through the thinning crowd. He waved at them, face not exactly smiling yet not unfriendly either, and said, “It’s a surprise to see you here. I was hoping to catch you before the briefing next week; after all, I was hoping to discuss new findings with you.”

 

Akira blinked at the shorter man, wondering for a moment why he didn’t approach him and Makoto earlier, but then he remembered… Arisato wasn’t in the department in the past few days, was he? How odd.

 

Makoto glanced at Ryuji and Morgana before looking back to the blue-haired man, “I’m not sure this is a good time, Arisato-san. Perhaps you can join us during our interview with one of the suspects, Nagakawa Haruka, tonight?”

 

Arisato stared at them, surprised by the name. “Nagakawa? The trading tycoon?”

 

Akira finally understood now; that was why Makoto was making a big deal about getting an interview so soon with the man. He replied, “Yes; Dr. Nakamura mentioned that his family doesn’t harbor good intentions toward her. If the medicine she has been prescribing her patients isn’t the source of poisoning, we’re considering that someone may be pointing us in the wrong direction on purpose.”

 

“Interesting,” Arisato commented, holding his chin as he said so. On his left ring finger, a platinum band glinted. At this distance, Akira couldn’t quite discern its design. Celtic knots? Still, it was a surprise; Arisato didn’t seem the type to be married at first glance, but the man was thirty-two so Akira guessed he couldn’t say anything on the matter. He looked to Ryuji, eyes thoughtful, before he replied, “It would be a good idea to discuss the matters of the investigation later, and I would like to tag along on the interview. However, there is a more pressing matter to attend to and it’s rather urgent that Mitsuru hears back from me about our discussion tonight.”

 

“Maybe Ryuji and I should leave…” Morgana murmured quietly from Akira’s side. Akira said nothing as he glanced down at Morgana and shifted his bag so he could give it to Ryuji. The investigator thought nothing of it as he was passing Morgana to Ryuji.

 

“Of course, Arisato-san. Ryuji can just…” Akira’s voice trailed off when he looked back to the older investigator, who stood frozen while staring at Morgana. Arisato narrowed his eyes, and the quartet immediately stiffened. Akira asked, “Is something wrong?”

 

Any kind of pleasant expression on his face dropped, replaced with a mask of seriousness. He didn’t answer Akira question and said in a firm voice, “This is a conversation all five of us should be having together, including Sakamoto-san and… Your cat. Why don’t we talk over lunch in the diner?”

 

Akira and Makoto shared an uncertain glance. They never once mentioned the blond to anyone in the departments. Furthermore, why did the man specifically address Morgana? Unless… Akira turned his head toward Morgana, whose tail twitched in agitation while staring in suspicion at Arisato with ears pressed to his head. _No way… Could Arisato be a Persona user? But then how did we never encounter him in the Metaverse?_

 

Ryuji blinked at Arisato, surprised, before he straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you know my name?”

 

“I have resources,” Arisato’s answer was clipped. “We should leave for the diner now; it’s not secure to discuss this here.” With that, the man turned on his heel and began walking away.

 

Ryuji hissed to Akira and Makoto, “What the hell’s up with him? Did he seriously hear Morgana?”

 

Makoto still looked like she was processing the event, eyebrows furrowed in a disturbed frown. Akira just nodded, finding himself speechless. He said, “We should probably follow him.”

 

“...I don’t trust him,” Ryuji hesitated. Makoto just sighed and placed both hands on Akira and Ryuji’s back, pushing them toward. Ryuji yelped, nearly toppling before he let himself be pushed ahead. “What gives, Makoto?”

 

“We didn’t tell you before, but the Kirijo Group is involved. If we run, they’ll probably sic police on us right after declaring us as fugitives.”

 

“Damn this rich people shit.”

 

Akira unhelpfully interjected, “Haru is rich.”

 

“She doesn’t count! She’s actually nice,” Ryuji rolled his eyes.

 

“Sounds like a crush,” the darker haired man smirked. Akira’s smirk only grew wider when the blond sputtered.

 

“What, no! I’m seeing someone anyways!” Ryuji shook his head adamantly. Akira raised an eyebrow and leaned closer with amusement sparkling in his eyes.

 

He mock whispered, “Yusuke?”

 

“Shut up, ‘kira. Like you can talk.”

 

Makoto rolled her eyes at the banter. “Stop stalling, you two.”

 

Akira let out a chuckle at Ryuji’s exasperated but amused expression, but started following Arisato of his own accord. He and Makoto walked ahead, leaving the skeptical blond standing alone in the middle of the busy sidewalk.

 

“Guys, seriously?!” Ryuji stared at their retreating forms before he finally started following, though he was much less enthused by the situation. He muttered to himself, “He better not be some serial killer or something…”

 

Arisato was polite enough wait in front of the diner for all of them to arrive before he opened the door for them. Once they entered the air conditioned restaurant, a bubbly hostess greeted them at the door and led them to a table toward the back. Despite the lunch hour, the place was not so busy and there were at most four occupied booths Where they sat there were no other customers in the immediate vicinity to overhear.

 

Makoto, Ryuji, and Akira shuffled to one side of the table with Arisato seated across from them. Once the hostess handed them their menus and said, “Just let me know whenever you’re ready to order!” before taking her leave, Arisato eyed Morgana, who discreetly glared back from within the bag just in case the hostess kicks them out for bringing in a cat.

 

He commented, “It’s rather strange, your cat. I was certain cats don’t talk.”

 

Akira gave him a cheerful smile, pretending to not understand. “Perhaps you were mistaken? Ryuji happens to be excellent at ventriloquism.”

 

Ryuji’s expression shifted into a grimace before he schooled his expression in a shaky smile. Arisato caught his expression but said nothing, though it was clear that the detective was not falling for the blatant lie.

 

“I suggest we stop beating around the bush. We weren’t able to catch on to your identities in 2016 because I lost access to the Velvet Room during that year.”

 

“‘We?’” Makoto repeated.

 

“The Shadow Investigation and Containment Unit, or SICU. It’s a police-sanctioned department funded by the Kirijo Group that deals with shadow infestations, which you have no doubt encountered,” Arisato replied as all of them shared weary looks. He pulled out his black leather wallet from the pocket of his gray windbreaker, retrieving a card from one of the slots. He place it on the table for them to see. “My role as a Special Investigator from Hokkaido is only a cover-up; I am actually one of the field leaders within SICU.”

 

Akira slid the card closer to himself; it was Arisato’s police identification card, but it denoted him as SICU rather than the SIU. He lifted it to the light, and a silver government watermark glittered. It looked like the real thing. “Why haven’t we heard about it before?”

 

“Like how the public would respond negatively to the ‘cognitive verse’ studied by Isshiki Wakaba,” Arisato’s expression didn’t even change when he saw all four of them stiffen at the name, as though he was expecting their reactions, “They would panic at being told that shadows manifest in the real world and can pose danger to them.”

 

Akira leaned back in his seat, lips pursed. There was no way to wriggle out of this; Arisato knew more than they thought. “According to you, who are we then?”

 

“The Phantom Thieves of Hearts. The Kirijo Group seized just about all of Isshiki’s research and we’ve been tracking your movements as closely as we can,” Arisato said without a pause. He stared at the dark haired man with a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes, continuing, “As a Wild Card, I have the ability to sense others like me, so it did not take long at all to determine that you are a Persona-user. Not to mention your involvement with Shido, who mysteriously had a change of heart, among others, which implicated you as the leader of the Phantom Thieves.”

 

“What about the rest of us?” Makoto asked, still mulling over the shock that they were figured out.

 

Arisato rubbed his neck with a laugh. “We still haven’t identified the rest of your team actually; I just took this chance after witnessing your cat speak. Now that this is settled, I’m sure you have many questions.”

 

Akira nodded, affirming his statement. “We weren’t aware that there were Persona users before the Metaverse’s creation; Igor hinted at it, but since we haven’t encountered any others like us—” Arisato did _not_ need to know about Goro— “I thought nothing of it.”

 

“It’s a rather long story; since 1996 there have actually been multiple incidents that called for Persona users, however each one is different from one another. Unlike you, my experience with Personas occurred within an anomaly called the Dark Hour, which took place between 12:59 and 1 in the morning. Similar to your Metaverse, the conditions allowed for me, among others, to summon a Persona.”

 

Akira and Makoto both stared at Arisato with baffled expressions, meanwhile Ryuji’s jaw hung open. The blond asked, “Seriously? Why haven’t we noticed that before?”

 

Arisato paused as he formulated his next words, fiddling with the edge of his windbreaker’s sleeve between a thumb and finger. Akira’s eyes flicked to the man’s wrist as the faintest hint of a white scar caught the light; the scar extended into his hand like a vine, disappearing into his palm between his forefinger and thumb. It looked like it must have been caused by something jagged, but the scar was too old for Akira to be certain. His attention returned to the man’s piercing blue eyes when he finally replied to Ryuji’s question, “We were able to remove the cause behind the Dark Hour’s existence years ago—at a price.”

 

At the expression on their faces, as though they wanted to ask more, Arisato raised a hand for them to stop. He said with an apologetic smile, “That’s all I can say for now; what actually happened was very much complicated and is too sensitive to discuss in public. The Dark Hour wasn’t the most recent incident before the Metaverse, though I’m not the person to ask about the other incidents. SICU has recruited more members since then, so perhaps one day you’ll meet the others. Anyhow, there is a more pressing issue I wanted to discuss: I saw that you took the train from Chiyoda-ku to Minato-ku, which is rather out of the way for some of you.”

 

Akira shifted uncomfortably under Arisato’s gaze. The detective was more observant than he gave him credit for. Akira nodded after a moment’s hesitation and replied, “Yes. You see, I encountered something anomalous on the train a few days ago.”

 

“Ah, yes. The trains between Chiyoda and Minato have been unexpectedly shutting off at precisely midnight every night because all electricity is cut for some unexplained reason at a specific location. Some passengers report seeing a ghost of a high school girl during that time.”

 

“Midnight?” Makoto frowned, “Is that why the trains have been running later than usual?”

 

Arisato nodded in confirmation. “We’ve been investigating this since it began on the 22nd.”

 

 _February 22nd?_ Akira leaned his chin on his hand in thought. Something about the date seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place a finger on it. He pointed out, correcting Arisato, “Actually, I wasn’t on the train to witness that. It was around 6 PM and a weird internet network called Cybusworks popped up on my phone. Before I could click on it, I was taken away—or better put, spirited away—to someplace like the Metaverse in the same train car, but it was empty. Except for what looked like a cognition of a high school girl.”

 

Though Arisato looked deeply troubled by Akira’s words, a confused furrow appeared in his brow. “A cognition?”

 

Akira gestured vaguely at his face, unsure how to explain it. “Um, yellow eyes? Does that sound familiar at all?”

 

“Ah, a shadow,” Arisato hummed. “If the anomaly is caused by a Metaverse-like distortion, then that sounds more feasible than a ghost. What’s a problem though is that we don’t know who this girl is.”

 

“Have you sent anyone to investigate the train at that time?”

 

Arisato nodded, though he sighed at the mention. “Unfortunately they didn’t turn up with anything useful. Not yet anyways. We’re going to be sending more teams to collect data on the distortion over the next few weeks, but I suggest that you refrain from investigating on your own until we make more progress on containing it and finding its cause.”

 

Makoto was the only one who did not react to Arisato’s statement: Akira narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, Morgana let out a sound of disapproval, and Ryuji asked rather loudly, “You’ve gotta be kidding me; you really expect us to stand around doing nothing?”

 

Arisato winced at the volume of Ryuji’s voice, seeing other tables beginning to look over at them with annoyed expressions. He shushed Ryuji before lowering his voice, “No offense, but SICU has at least ten more years of experience than you and has seen many more anomalies other than the Metaverse. You aren’t prepared to deal with the unknown.”

 

“But—” Ryuji began to protest.

 

Akira pointed out, “We aren’t as inexperienced as you think; the Metaverse was dangerous and we did destroy it by taking down a _god._ ”

 

“That makes three of us, then,” Arisato commented, more to himself than for their ears. Before Akira could ask what he meant, Arisato continued, “Look, it’s not that I exactly doubt your abilities, but it has been years since you’ve had contact with anomalies like the Metaverse. I cannot let you be endangered until we have gathered more information about the distortion. This doesn’t mean we won’t enlist your help later; knowing Mitsuru, she will recruit you when the time comes. Now just isn’t the right time.”

 

They finally deflated, unable to argue against his reasoning. Makoto said, “That’s understandable, Arisato-san. Thank you for indulging us though. There is a problem however: we suspect there are connections between this and our current investigation…”

 

Akira watched Arisato’s expression. It did not shift at all, as if the man wasn’t surprised at all. He guessed, “That’s why you and Kirijo showed up to that briefing.”

 

Arisato slowly nodded. “We found it odd that the string of comas all preceded the creation of the distortion, so we thought it was worth looking into.”

 

“Then whoever’s behind the comas may be the one behind the distortion,” Makoto concluded. Silence befell the table as her words sunk in, though Arisato’s expression was less grave than the others, likely because he already thought of the possibility.

 

Akira broke the silence with a sigh. “That’s just great. Let’s hope it isn’t another god.”

 

\--

 

It was already dusk when they arrived just on time for their meeting with Nagakawa Haruka at the tall residential building in the northern end of Adachi-ku; it had taken over 45 minutes by train from Minato-ku to Adachi-ku after a small delay on the tracks. Morgana agreed to go home with Ryuji earlier, so the trio of investigators were left alone to continue their work on their off day.

 

As they approached the locked doors of the building, Akira stared at the massive structure in confusion. “An apartment? I would’ve thought Nagakawa would have a mansion.”

 

Makoto snorted, presumably at the thought. “Akira, this is a housing estate. He probably owns a four story house in here.”

 

“...Oh.”

 

Arisato just shook his head at the exchange before stepping in front of a voice box with an idle screen underneath it. He gave it an experimental tap and it came to life, showing two buttons beside each other that read Visitor and Resident.

 

Akira gawked at it. He had never seen anything like this before. Just how rich were the people who lived in this estate?

 

The blue-haired man maneuvered the screen with practiced ease, tapping on the Visitor icon which revealed a set of house numbers. He asked, “Niijima-san, which number does he live at?”

 

“1086,” she provided. Arisato nodded and pressed for the number, a ping sounding as he did so. The screen changed to a loading icon for several moments before finally there was a click and a deep voice filled with suspicion spoke from the voice box, “Hello?”

 

“Is this Nagakawa Haruka?” Makoto asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“My name is Niijima Makoto; we were corresponding over the phone yesterday about having an interview for our investigation. I also brought two of my colleagues, if that is okay.”

 

Immediately, all suspicion was gone and the voice grew light. “Ah, of course. Thank you for being on time; I have a family dinner scheduled soon after this. I’ll unlock the door. See you soon.”

 

The voice box turned off with a click and there was a buzz from the glass door as it unlocked. They filed into the building and made a beeline for the elevator, which was shockingly spacious and grandiose in design: the walls were made of polished wood and the ornate railing attached to them looked like they were at least plated with real gold. The buttons, looking like they were from long before the 1950s era, were ivory in color. Makoto pressed for the tenth floor and the doors slid close.

 

The hallway on the tenth floor was just as lavish as the elevator, resembling a hotel more than anything Akira would see in a residential building. To the end of the hallway was a large window with a small decorative table beneath it. Lining the walls were only four doors, each a minimalist black with silver number plaques and ornate knockers on them. Makoto led the way to the left door toward the end of the hall and knocked three times.

 

It did not take long for the door to open, but it was not a man who opened it: it was an umber-skinned girl with curly black hair tied back dressed in a simple pale pink blouse and dark wash skinny jeans who stared back at them with eyes such a pale blue they were almost white. Despite her strange looks, Akira could tell she was mixed, with smaller eyes, thin fold in her eyelids, and lower cheekbones consistent with Japanese heritage. Despite her piercing gaze, it looked like she was staring past them. She said after a long moment of silence, “You must be the investigators—”

 

A shorter boy with pale skin looking barely twelve bounded up to her side from within the home and gawked excitedly at them. “Are these cops?! Whoa! Are you really martial art masters? Do you think you can beat Zuni? She always beats me and even the toughest boys in her division—”

 

“Shut up, you geek,” the girl rolled her eyes. She reached out a hand to push the boy away, though it took a couple seconds for her hand to find his head before she could effectively shove him back. She looked back at the trio, now at the space between Arisato and Akira, “Sorry about that; my cousin is hyper.”

 

“Am not!” came the boy’s protest.

 

“Anyways,” the girl ignored the boy, “I’m Zuni, Nagakawa Haruka’s niece. My aunt just called my uncle, so he’s on the phone right now. Come on in. Would you like some water?”

 

“Please,” Makoto nodded.

 

Zuni opened the door further for them to enter and reached for a red metal stick propped against the wall in the entryway. She lightly tapped against the floor, feeling for any wrinkles in the rug laid on the hardwood floor before walking ahead. She asked, “Tadashi, can you get them some water please?”

 

“Mm!” the boy nodded before hurrying off to the kitchen behind the staircase set against the wall. He popped his head back out of the kitchen and called, “Zuni? When are Uncle Hiro and Aunt Ayana gonna get here?”

 

“They’re still running errands, so an hour I guess,” Zuni replied. She said to the trio, “Why don’t you sit down?”

 

“M’kay,” Tadashi said before disappearing back into the kitchen. A minute or so later, he returned with a tray of water as they found their seats on the expensive red leather couches.

 

“Thank you,” Akira smiled at the boy when he was given his glass of water. Tadashi brightened before he sat down beside the dark-haired man. Zuni disappeared into another room which looked like an office.

 

It was only moments later when a man in a brown argyle sweater stepped out from the office with Zuni in tow. Seeing the three investigators, he cleared his throat and addressed the boy, “Tadashi, why don’t you and Zuni go upstairs?”

 

Tadashi deflated at being unable to witness the investigators at work and nodded. Helping Zuni up the stairs, the two youths took their leave. The man with long-since-grayed hair sat down in one of the armchairs once they were out of sight and gave a cordial smile to the trio. He introduced himself, “I am Nagakawa Haruka; it’s a pleasure to meet you in person Niijima-san. Your colleagues are…?”

 

Makoto replied, gesturing to her coworkers, “This is Kurusu Akira and Arisato Minato. How are you today?”

 

“I am doing well, thank you,” Nagakawa replied, “I apologize for scheduling this right before dinner. I don’t have any other openings for the next few weeks. Now, about the investigation…?”

 

Akira quietly watched the exchange, allowing Makoto to handle the questioning. Makoto gave a short nod and said, “I’ll be asking a few preliminary questions, Nagakawa-san, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course I don’t mind.”

 

“Could you give me an overview of your work? Such as what types of people you work with?”

 

“Well, I do a lot of flying for business…” Nagakawa started, delving into a rather long and articulate explanation. Makoto jotted down notes on her pad as the man spoke and Arisato listened to the man with guarded eyes, but Akira carefully honed in on the tycoon’s expressions and body language. Though he supposed it was unsurprising, Nagakawa seemed distinctly closed off excepting his amicable tone and warm smiles he casts toward them: the man’s hand movements were limited and although his palms were up, presumably to give an air of openness, his legs were crossed, right leg pointed toward the front door. Akira glanced down at his feet and as expected, his planted left foot was also pointed to the exit. Despite his friendly behavior, the man was uncomfortable with being put in the spotlight.

 

Akira’s gaze wandered the living area as Makoto continued her questioning, lingering on the half open door of Nagakawa’s office. If only he could go in there and do some investigating of his own; the man likely hid secrets of his own. On the tall walls hung multiple Impressionist paintings, all no doubt priceless judging by the man’s likely obsession with image given by how he dodges the news stations except for a few interviews here and there, according to Makoto.

 

There was only one framed photograph of a family hanging near the staircase, away from Akira’s immediate view. It was a bit far away, but he could make out Nagakawa’s frozen smiling face, a few years younger judging by how much more of his black hair showed, as he stood beside a pretty woman at least fifteen years younger who was holding the hand of a much younger Tadashi. The picture itself seemed rather stiff. _This family sure doesn’t seem very happy…_

 

Akira’s attention returned to the questioning at hand when the topic shifted.

 

“Aside from being the CEO of my trading company, I also am a member of Shirokane Health’s board of advisors—my involvement with the clinic is just as a volunteer, however. Improving mental health has always been one of my goals, coming from a family where it’s unfortunately a commonplace.”

 

Akira raised an eyebrow. Didn’t Chou mention Shirokane as a competitor to Tenkane Clinic? It would mean that Nagakawa may have more of a motive against Chou after all if he is in fact involved.

 

“Thank you, Nagakawa-san,” Makoto smiled politely, “I have one final question: what do you know of Dr. Nakamura Chou?”

 

Faster than Akira could blink, Nagakawa’s behavior immediately shifted. He clasped his hands in his lap and any sign of friendliness melted away from his face, the smile on his lips replaced by a sneer. He said coldly, “I will not speak on the matter. I believe that you have overstayed your welcome, Niijima-san, Arisato-san, Kurusu-san. I am a very busy man after all.”

 

“You know her personally?” Akira was the one who asked next, observing the tycoon’s expressions. When his expression darkened further, becoming thunderous, Akira schooled his expression into a neutral one. The man’s expression was an answer enough.

 

“Next time you wish to speak to me, you will be speaking to my lawyer,” the man’s voice became more venomous by the second. “If you don’t leave immediately, I will have the building security escort you off the premises.”

 

“Of course, we apologize for taking your time,” Makoto gave a rather forced smile as Nagakawa stood up and strode to the front door, opening it and gesturing for the trio to see themselves out. The door slammed behind them once they were out and clicked as it was locked. Makoto sighed and turned to Akira, “So, it’s between Kitaya, Nagakawa, and Nakamura now, isn’t it?”

 

Akira nodded before letting out a scoff and shaking his head as he recalled Nakamura’s words to him during the first interview. Arisato looked curiously at him; he’ll have to explain more in depth to the blue-haired man later.

 

“‘An old family matter from the 90’s,’ my ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, this turned out way longer than I thought, but there was no way I could've split this given how interwoven each scene was. Anyhow, Akira really needs a hug and some coffee at Leblanc after this.
> 
> Next chapter: An interlude revealing the new Wild Card...
> 
> **CONFIDANT RANK UP**
> 
> _Nakamura Chou - The Fortune - Rank 2_
> 
>    
> Note: Updates will slow during this month because I have AP tests coming up, scholarships I'm scrambling to apply for, and graduation next month. D: Worst case scenario is that you won't be seeing me again until after the first two weeks of May.
> 
> I also can't decide on a good summary of this work. RIP me.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://umbraphage.tumblr.com)


	5. Interlude I (02/03/2024)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our new Wild Card is revealed and he unluckily enters the strange new dimension alone.

_March 2nd 2024_

 

He was jerked from a dreamless sleep as his eyes flew wide open, limbs jerking as he awoke from a sudden falling sensation—something he was plagued with almost every time he slept (which was less common than what his doctor considered healthy). However, the fact that he was seated precariously on the concrete railing of a balcony and he was actually falling backwards toward what looked like crashing waves several hundred meters below revealed that is was definitely not normal and _holy shit,_ he was going to die.

 

He let out a loud curse that was most definitely not a scream and flailed his arms to regain his balance, only for it to backfire as he pitched forward and landed on his face on solid ground. He groaned as he sat up on the cold concrete floor, brushing his shoulder length black hair, mussed from the cold ocean wind that whipped through, from his face as he looked through the open glass sliding doors that revealed a strange room that resembled a doctor’s office, albeit more extravagant: the floors looked like they were made of plush royal blue carpet and the blue velvet drapes were pushed aside to let in what little moonlight there was from behind him. A strange old man, hooked nose and wide, knowing eyes, looked up from his desk and gave a kind smile to him, greeting, “Welcome, guest. This is the Velvet Room. You may call me Igor.”

 

The young man stared at the elder, Igor, with a blank expression before it turned into one of disbelief. He rubbed at his eyes, muttering to himself, “Lucid dreaming?”

 

Igor chuckled before replying, “Not quite; the Velvet Room manifests between consciousness and subconsciousness. Your mind has shaped this room into a hospital, it seems.”

 

“Having been in the hospital for most of my life, that’s unsurprising,” the man finally stood, dusting himself off with a brush of his hands against his white pajamas, and stepped into the warmth of the room away from the bitter cold outside. A hand unexpectedly laid on his shoulders and he jumped with a sharp gasp, jerking his head to his left to see a man a whole head taller than him, wavy, white-haired and donned in royal blue nurse scrubs.

 

Yellow eyes gleamed at him from behind gold-framed spectacles as the unfamiliar man spoke, “Please, take a seat. My name is Alexander and I am an attendant of the Velvet Room.”

 

“This some weird combo of a hotel and a hospital?” the young man questioned, not expecting an answer as he let himself be gently pushed into the chair seated across from Igor. He wondered aloud, “It seems awfully late that I am just having this dream; it’s been awhile since I took Psych 2…”

 

Igor, curious, raised an eyebrow at the man. The guest, seeing the elder’s expression, found himself explaining, “I have this habit of just dreaming about my classes because of all the homework, at least whenever I do manage to sleep.”

 

“Interesting,” Igor leaned forward, eyes glimmering with faint amusement, “But I assure you, this isn’t a dream.”

 

“I’m sure that figments of my imagination would believe that this is in fact not a dream because they are a reflection of the unconscious; if I wasn’t aware this is a dream then you wouldn’t be either,” the man retorted.

 

“Ah, but you concluded that you were lucid dreaming, didn’t you? Wouldn’t that contradict your statement?”

 

The man chewed his lip, uncertain of how to argue back. He finally said, “While I agree that this is a possibility, this is still unlikely to be anything but a dream because hospital personnel wouldn’t let me almost die back there.”

 

“Try not to overstep your boundaries,” Alexander spoke, voice harsh. The man stared at the tall attendant, meeting his gaze evenly, before he finally stood down.

 

 _Well, might as well indulge them._ He asked, “If this room is in fact in a region between the conscious and the subconscious, why am I here?”

 

Igor simply smiled at him with an air of mysteriousness before pulling open the desk drawer, retrieving something from its depths. When he closed the drawer, he revealed a deck of black and silver tarot cards.

 

“Oh, god,” the man stared at the deck in momentary horror.

 

“You don’t believe?”

 

“Of course not. It’s bullshit.”

 

Igor hummed, “Perhaps, perhaps not. This is not a normal deck, as you are expecting.”

 

The man glared at him warily but said nothing. Igor took his silence as a sign to continue, and he shuffled the cards twice with efficient hands. He turned the top card over and slid it across the desk with his forefinger. The man stared down at it with furrowed brows. _What does this mean?_

 

The card revealed a painting of a figure, unconscious, dressed in white linen falling from the bright, unclouded sky toward the ocean with melted wings, feathers trailing after him from above. In the distance was a crumbling stone tower resting on a cliff. Whatever it was, it looked foreboding.

 

“You’d be right in that assessment. The Tower implies a tragic fall, and this Arcana is representative of your soul where it is at right now,” Igor replied as though he read the man’s mind, “I normally wouldn’t pull you in to the Velvet Room like this during your sleep, but I had to approach you sooner than expected. I only wish to reduce as much of the harm that will come to you and your loved ones, so I have a proposition: given that you will soon awaken your Persona, or inner self—”

 

_What the hell was that supposed to mean?_

 

“—I offer you an ability, which we dub as the Wild Card. It is an opportunity to protect and defend those close to you. As a Wild Card, you would have some duties to uphold on your side of the agreement.”

 

“What is this Wild Card ability?” the man inquired.

 

“While your Arcana is representative of your own personality, the Tower isn’t all that embodies you. You have a multifaceted personality, and you only show one side depending on your whims.”

 

He could not argue with that, but he was still unnerved by how he was confronting this in his dreams right now.

 

“Because of this, you are a viable wielder of this ability. Now, it is up to you to sign the contract,” Igor finished. He nodded to Alexander, who pulled out a clipboard and pen and set them on the desk in front of the man. Clipped to the black clipboard was a single page contract with an ‘x’ beside a line on the bottom for him to sign.

 

He made no move to touch the pen, and wondered, “You said I had duties. What are they exactly?”

 

“You just need to complete your journey.”

 

He openly frowned at the vague statement. “What journey?”

 

Igor smiled, “You’ll see for yourself.”

 

The young man hummed in displeasure at how the strange resident dodged his question, though he supposed it was pointless arguing with a figment of a dream. He eyed the contract with suspicion before finally sighing and reaching for the pen. In the silence of the room there was only the sound of the pen scratching on the paper as he signed his name. Just as he finished, the contract was snatched from his hands and Igor reached out a hand for him to shake.

 

With a firm shake of the hands, Igor said, “We’ll be seeing each other again soon, Shirogeki Haku.”

 

Haku stared at the blue key Igor left in his hands, but his surroundings faded into darkness before he could say anything more.

 

\--

 

Haku woke with a fuzzy mind, limbs weak with fatigue as he stretched. He blinked bleary-eyed at his phone when he reached for it and turned on the screen. _8:00 AM._ At least he got an hour more of sleep than his usual four hours (and that was already stretching it; half the time he barely could get two hours of sleep if he was lucky).

 

He snuggled back into his bed, closing his eyes again; while he doubted he could fall back asleep, maybe he could get a couple more hours of rest before tackling the next chapter in his Social Psychology textbook…

 

_Shit._

 

His eyes flew open and he flung his sheets off of him before sitting up. He grabbed a hair brush from his dresser and yanked the tangles from his messy black hair in a few strokes, tossing it haphazardly on his pillow once he deemed his hair semi-decent. He slid his hair tie off his wrist and tied his hair, now silken to the touch, back in a low ponytail before standing and rearranging the sheets so they didn’t look so rumpled. _Good enough._

 

Flinging his white pajamas off, Haku dug around in his closet for a sports bra and let out an ‘a-ha!’ once his hand came across one, then he threw it on over his head and pulled it over his chest. He looked down to check his chest; it wasn’t quite as flat as he’d prefer, but with a loose enough shirt it worked out in the end. He considered using his binder again, but decided against it; his doctor did recommend against wearing it all the time. The young man reached for the nearest shirt, a gray v-neck, and jeans, black and loose, to throw on before grabbing his phone and Cybusnet lanyard with his keys—what was that blue one?

 

Haku held it closer to see, thumb brushing against the ornate embellishments on it.

 

 _Ah, the dream._ He guessed that he must have found this key somewhere earlier, and that was why he dreamt up such a crazy story. Shrugging it off, Haku pocketed his lanyard and yanked on his red hoodie. He pulled his bedroom door open and practically ran out...only for his foot to get caught on his laptop’s charging cable. He let out a yelp as he toppled over and landed on his face with flailing arms.

 

Unfortunately, this has been a pattern for many years already. Akio, his cousin, barely gave him a glance as he walked past, already dressed in a sweater vest, navy blazer, and tan trousers for the day. The attorney asked with a nonchalant tone, “Did you forget you have an appointment already?”

 

Haku grumbled, choosing not to dignify the elder with an answer. “Akio, spare me some of your mercy, please.”

 

“Can’t make any promises,” his cousin replied. “Get up; I already got your wheelchair opened for you. Thankfully you didn’t wake up so late; if traffic’s decent then we’ll be there just on time.”

 

‘Just on time’ to Akio was fifteen minutes early to Haku. Haku hated waiting in lines at the hospital. The younger of the two just groaned as he pulled himself up and put on his medical mask before he followed Akio to the front door, where his chair waited. Haku found himself sighing quietly to himself as he seated himself. One more day of this and once he takes the iron-regulatory medication after the appointment, he’ll be free again from his wheelchair. Even though it wouldn’t last long, it was something he looked forward to.

 

After Akio locked the door of their shared apartment, they took the elevator to the parking garage attached to the tall apartment building a couple floors down. Akio’s silver sedan was parked near the entrance, so it didn’t take long for them to get the car running once Haku folded his wheelchair and stuffed it in the back before situating himself in the passenger seat. Once Akio pulled the car out of the garage and into the morning light, the attorney glanced at his cousin for a closer look. He commented, “You look like the walking dead.”

 

“I got one more hour of sleep!” Haku objected. Akio looked at him with exasperation.

 

“So… You slept for one hour.”

 

Haku narrowed his eyes at Akio. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

 

“Thanks; it comes with the charm.”

 

“Remember that the bigger the ego, the bigger the fall is,” Haku rolled his eyes. When the car rolled to a stop at a red light, Akio reached out an arm to poke Haku in the forehead.

 

“Says the kid who got so much of a big head that he broke his arm thinking he can climb the walls of the middle school. In the third year.”

 

Haku grimaced, “God, that was six years ago. Will you let that go?”

 

“Never,” Akio smirked. He commented, “At least you wore shorts under that skirt so you had some decency.”

 

Haku grumbled to himself before replying, “First of all, I was getting a soccer ball from the roof for my friends, and the wall did have a ladder so it wasn’t completely stupid. And it was a new perspective of the world; you can’t blame thirteen-year-old me.”

 

“Your sleeping habits and lack of self-preservation is honestly counterintuitive,” Akio sighed.

 

“I do have self-preservation: I take calculated risks,” Haku pouted. Akio side-eyed Haku so hard that the younger of the two wondered why he hasn’t had an aneurysm yet.

 

“Anyways, it’s confusing how you have problems with sleeping. Don’t you feel tired all the time because of your blood cell count?”

 

Haku felt himself sink deeper into the leather car seat, a bitter taste on his tongue. He didn’t have a logical explanation for the paradox; it just _was._ He replied, “I do, really. But I can’t really explain it; maybe I have an overactive mind whenever I try to sleep? I still feel physically exhausted though.”

 

“Hm,” Akio glanced at him thoughtfully before the car started moving again once the light turned green. He said, “We should probably get that checked out. There might be sleep meds that won’t interfere with the ones you’re already taking.”

 

Haku’s nose scrunched at the thought of having to take more medicine. “Augh, I’d rather not. I already feel nauseated every time after I take the deferasirox.”

 

“Sleep meds don’t do much harm in terms of side effects, except maybe if you take ambien on an empty stomach,” Akio pointed out. “At least talk to Dr. Ginki about it.”

 

Haku grunted.

 

“I’m serious, Haku. I don’t want to be the one explaining to your parents about how you drop dead from sleep deprivation just because you’ve been staying at my place for uni. Your mother’s wrath is frightening.”

 

He winced at the thought of his parents. “Okay, I’ll consider it.”

 

“Considering it isn’t enough, Haku,” Akio chastised. Haku fell silent, not wanting to have another conversation about this again. _Just don’t die early_ was unspoken every time, but despite the heavy weight it brought upon their hearts, Haku could not bring himself to make any promises in order to bring Akio relief. He knew it would be an empty promise and so did Akio, as so he thought.

 

_Fate just isn’t something to be controlled._

 

An uncomfortable silence settled over the car, and Akio turned the radio on once he figured that Haku wasn’t going to say anything more.

 

“—the string of comas in the past month is a concern; normally it would not have caught the police’s attention, but they are concentrated in Tokyo. Rumor has it that the patients just collapsed suddenly after going on psychotic rampages, so I suspect it may be a vengeful spirit behind the events…”

 

Haku snorted at the thought. _Vengeful spirit… How lame. These people are just grasping at straws now…_

 

“Say, didn’t your classmate fall into a coma a week or so ago?” Akio frowned.

 

“Gabriel? Yeah… He was supposed to be in my Social Psychology class,” he replied, scratching at his head. “But apparently he collapsed suddenly at work, at that small cafe in Yongen-jaya. It’s really weird because he was perfectly healthy… Anyways, Zuni and I have been planning on visiting, but his family doesn’t want anyone else visiting.”

 

“Maybe you can send flowers or chocolate for when he wakes.”

 

 _If he wakes,_ Haku chewed the inside of his cheek as his eyebrows furrowed. He couldn’t help but think back to that special investigator who visited Ito’s office. _Could it be that Gabriel’s coma is related to Ito’s?_ “Maybe I will.”

 

The silence now was more relaxed, and Akio switched to another radio station for the remainder of the trip. Traffic was a bit slow on the roads, so Haku let his eyes slide close. _Maybe I can try for a short nap…_

 

Less than a couple seconds later, Haku opened his eyes when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The passenger door was open and they were in the hospital’s parking lot.

 

Standing over him was Akio, who said, “You fell asleep on the way. It’s 8:30 right now.”

 

Fifteen minutes early after all. Haku yawned, stretching for a moment before he stepped out from the car, where his chair sat already unfolded. As he got himself situated in it and prepared to start pushing himself ahead to the hospital’s entrance, his cousin’s phone went off in its melodic ringtone.

 

Akio let out an irritated sigh before he took the call, “Hello? ...Yes. What’s going on? Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me… He seriously landed his butt in jail? Again?”

 

Haku watched Akio’s darkening expression with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

 

“Fine. I’ll be there in half an hour,” Akio ended the call with a tap and shoved it into his blazer pocket. He looked apologetically at Haku, “Sorry, my client landed himself in some trouble. Again. And he needs me right away at the police station. You’ll be okay, right?”

 

Haku’s eyes glimmered in mirth. “I think the better question is if you’ll be okay.”

 

Akio snickered, “If I end up with a homicide charge via strangulation on my record, you’ll know what happened. I’ll definitely be back to pick you up though. See you later?”

 

“Don’t kill anyone; I still need someone to freeload off of for the next few years.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Akio rolled his eyes before climbing back into the car. Haku just waved at him when he pulled out of the parking space and left. Haku just shook his head before heading inside.

 

It’s a wonder how Akio could handle being a defense attorney; Haku would never be able to pull off such a career, even though it disappointed his mother. Despite being an only child, it was impressively difficult to make his parents proud (though his father seemed happy to see him pursuing a career in computer science), not that Haku had anything to complain about. He’d bet on his life that it was exhausting for his parents to make sure he stayed alive all these years.

 

During the morning, the hospital was less busy than Haku was used to seeing. It was a welcomed change for once. The young man just waved in greetings at the secretary, who gave a warm smile at seeing him again, as he passed the main lobby for the elevators. As he rolled himself into an elevator, he pulled his phone out from his back pocket and turned it on. It was going to be a long wait before he could actually meet with Dr. Ginki, so might as well check up on some forums while he sat around.

 

He pressed for the third floor and as the doors slid close, he swiped down from the top of his phone screen to access the menu of internet networks. _Huh?_

 

Haku blinked at the screen. Instead of the usual hospital network at the top, it listed _Cybusworks._ He wondered, _Did they change the network name or something?_

 

Shrugging off the unsettled feeling in his gut, he tapped on the network to connect. It required no password. The elevator dinged as the doors slid open, and Haku turned off his phone to put in his pocket. As he pushed himself out, the unsettled feeling intensified.

 

The sky was tinted green from outside of windows as sunlight shined in. It was cloudless, unlike the partly cloudy sky Haku just saw earlier. Weird… Haku made his way down the hallway toward Dr. Ginki’s office, but the numbered doors all looked unfamiliar. Even the placement of the doors threw Haku off.

 

_Okay, something’s wrong._

 

Even more disturbing was the lack of people on the floor. There would at least be a handful of people walking about even during the dead hours of the day, which didn’t exist in Tokyo. Instead, it was eerily empty and so silent that all Haku could hear was the rolling of his chair’s wheels. Most of the doors he passed were closed and the rooms beyond them were unlit, as if they were long since abandoned.

 

It almost felt like he was in another dimension, like one of those horror movies. He started rolling faster; _shit,_ he hoped there wasn’t some ghost hunting him down. Toward the end of the corridor, there are some open doors with light gleaming from within them. The first one he passed, it was empty, but it looked lived in: there was a sketchbook and crayons on the hospital bed inside.

 

The second one was much more unnerving, looking like an operation room. Scalpels lay on the metal table beside the bed, covered in dried blood. From beneath the bed seeped a pool of dark blood, and there were even red, smudged handprints on the wall. A nervous hitch of breath caught Haku by the throat and he considered making his way past the door quickly, but something made him pause.

 

An outline of a woman in a hospital gown sat on the bed, staring at the wall with unseeing gold eyes. She looked almost real to touch, but Haku could see the walls through her. A ghost?!

 

Haku gulped and proceeded to roll past. _I did not just see that, I did not just see that, holy fuck, I did not just see that…_

 

The room at the end of the hall was far more friendly to the eyes. Sunlight filtered in through soft white drapes—why there were drapes instead of blinds he didn’t know—and a soft breeze came through the open window. A familiar form, definitely solid and human, sat in the bed with an IV attached to his arm as he read from a book. A head of soft reddish blond curls fell into a pale, cherubic face, shielding green eyes from view. A pair of glasses sat folded on the sheets beside him.

 

Haku gaped at the man and entered the room slowly. “Gabriel?”

 

Gabriel made no show of hearing him. As Haku approached the bed, he got a closer look at the book clutched in the Caucasian’s hands. The title looked like it was scratched off with a sharp object, but the Renaissance painting printed below it was unmistakably from Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet._ When Haku was close enough to be right beside Gabriel, all the pages were blacked out with violent marker scribbles. Taking a closer look at Gabriel’s face, he saw gold eyes staring down at the pages while Gabriel’s lips mouthed the nonexistent words. Haku’s voice wavered, “What the hell is going on?”

 

A voice made Haku sharply turn around, “What are you doing here? No visitors are allowed.”

 

Haku reminded himself not to shriek at the sight of a nurse towering over him in her teal scrubs. Normally, he’d apologize and see himself out immediately, but he found himself frozen in fear.

 

The nurse was faceless. It was as though she was wearing a completely blank, featureless mask, but it was completely fused to her skin.

 

Haku could feel the nurse glaring at him even without eyes to do so as she snapped, “What a moron. You know, a bunch of people come in here day in and day out with minor injuries, overdramatizing everything. When these patients get insurance, they never bother to read the fine print and they blame everything on the hospital staff—”

 

 _How is she able to speak without a mouth?_ Haku stared with rising horror at the nurse before he forced his expression into a friendly one, cutting her off, “I’m sorry to hear that; that must be very stressful for you, ma’am. You must want to rest, so I’ll just take my leave…”

 

He hoped she would forget him and started to roll past her, only for his chair’s wheels to suddenly stop, unable to budge. He slowly turned, cold sweat forming at his temple, to see the nurse looking at least three times more horrifying. Gripping the handles of his chair were large clawed hands.

 

“You are just like everyone else, _brat,_ ” she hissed, “Brushing me off like that. I will show you the extent of my _rage_ —”

 

Haku jumped up from the wheelchair and hurried himself out, calling over his shoulder, “Gotta go, bye!”

 

 _Well, I am so utterly fucked,_ Haku thought to himself as he began to run down the corridor back toward the elevator, feeling a boost of energy from the adrenaline rush. If only there was a better, less panicky way of getting the energy his blood can’t provide… Faceless nurses, gold-eyed ghosts, what was next? Saeki Kayako?

 

As he rounded the corner, he crashed into a very solid form and stumbled backwards onto his bottom, wincing at the pain. He looked up, wide-eyed, to see three faceless nurses standing over him. He gasped and backed away, sliding across the cold floor. He tried standing, only to flop back down when his legs were burning too much and his breath was too short.

 

A clawed hand wrapped itself around his throat and tightened. Haku wheezed, reaching up with his hands to weakly try to pry them away to no avail. _Crap…_

 

He was gasping for breath, but none came. As his vision began to darken, his eyes focused on someone standing behind the nurse… Himself?

 

Dead gold eyes stared him down, and a distorted voice echoed, “Too weak… I’m never strong enough. I am just a burden to my mother. My father. Akio…”

 

_What the hell was this?_

 

“I should have given up long ago. No one cares enough, after all.”

 

_That… Wasn’t true._

 

“Even Zuni; she only stayed friends because of pity. She never had to lose anything, even though she never saw; I lost everything I loved to do because of this stupid sickness.”

 

Haku couldn’t let out a sound. His eyes narrowed. _No, you dumbass._

 

“Not only am I too weak because of bad blood, I can’t even stand up against my parents about who I truly am… Maybe I am bound to a cursed existence as a daughter.”

 

Haku flinched at the words as if they were a slap to his face. His grip weakened on the clawed hand. _I…_

 

A hot warmth touched his shoulder and his own voice hissed into his ear, _Are you so weak as to not fight back? You’ve been fighting for years already!_

 

Haku refocused his eyes, but was unable to turn to face the voice. He gritted his teeth, _I am **not** weak._

 

_Then what do you call this? Letting such words get to you… They are your thoughts, your feelings. Anything within your psyche is within your control. The power lies within your hands to overcome them._

 

 _I… Do._ Haku’s hand tightened on the vice around his neck.

 

_So embrace that power, Shirogeki Haku. Reach for it from within and call my name._

 

Name?

 

_Call it—_

 

Finding his voice once the hand loosened slightly, a shout escaped his lips as he vaguely heard a shattering sound around him, “ _Karna!_ ”

 

A searing pain exploded from his head to the rest of his body. Unable to contain it, Haku screamed as a hot aura enveloped him, incinerating the faceless creature closest to him. He slowly stood, somehow feeling his energy rejuvenate, and glared at the other two creatures that stood prepared to attack.

 

_Thou art I and I art thou; we are one and the same. My power runs within you and will forever be at your fingertips._

 

Haku wordlessly gestured at the creatures with a black gloved hand extended beyond the sleeve of a deep red coat sleeve—he didn’t remember wearing this—and snarled through the buzzing pain that still reverberated through his body, “Destroy them, Karna.”

 

 _As you wish,_ the voice chuckled darkly. A spear of pure white light slashed through the faceless creatures without hesitation, leaving them as shreds on the ground.

 

Staring with startled eyes at the scene, his legs began to feel like jelly. He fell to one knee with a grimace, squeezing his eyes tight through the fading pain until he opened one eye at the sound of approaching footsteps. A tall figure in a white suit stood at the end of the hallway, face hidden by… Something. Haku’s vision was already beginning to blur, so he couldn’t make out the figure’s features. Fatigue settled in his muscles like lead and he finally collapsed to the ground.

 

As the darkness enveloped him, he felt warm arms wrap around him before he could hit the cold, hard floor and saw fiery gold eyes on his own face, framed by black hair longer than his own, crookedly smiling at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I said updates will slow? Well, my finger slipped and here we are. I also wanted to shove more scenes into this, but it just came to a natural stopping point. I was uncertain about posting this chapter since I initially planned on having the entire fic be from Akira's POV, but I decided against it because it would just add more mysteries that really shouldn't be there and would drag the fic for way too long (think GoT or longer) because I just want to focus as much as I can on the main plot. So, what do you guys think of the alternating POV during interludes scattered through the fic?
> 
> Next chapter: A confrontation from Nagakawa's wife spirals downwards and the concerned Nagakawa Hiro offers help where his brother refuses to provide.
> 
>  _Saeki Kayako_ \- The creepy ghost with a broken neck from Ju-on (The Grudge)
> 
> **Karna**  
>  _A hero and eventual villain, Karna is one of the characters in the Mahabharata, an epic written in 400 BC-400 AD India. Karna was an illegitimate child who got sent down the river by his birth mother and was raised by a soldier and his wife after he was found. Driven by anger and seeking his birth parents, Karna goes on a long journey as he rises from a humble background to kingship, which ends in his bloody death because of his arrogance and sense of honor._
> 
> [Tumblr](https://umbraphage.tumblr.com)


	6. 08/03/2024

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira digs deeper into the Nagakawa family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really should get my priorities in order, but fuck it. I hate Crime and Punishment and I don't want to write a paper on it even though Raskolnikov is a relatable dumpster fire sometimes and it's due tomorrow. At least I have the quotes I need...?
> 
> Also, warning for some sexually suggestive themes in the first part of this chapter. I opted out of writing smut so this wouldn't become too long, but that doesn't mean there won't be any later.

_March 8th 2024_

 

It was a cool Saturday morning when Akira woke at the crack dawn with a start, Morgana still asleep and curled up beside him. He was breathing heavily as he stared up at the pink light shining onto the ceiling from his window, willing his heart to calm down to no avail. A shudder ran down his spine, but not at the chill.

 

He could still see dilated reddish brown eyes boring into his own as a hot breath ghosted across his lips. He could still feel the burning touch of _his_ fingers against his neck, tangled in his hair, trailing down his spine teasingly… He could still taste the mix of cinnamon and coffee as warm lips caught his own in a bruising kiss, tongue forcefully pushing past the seam of his lips and rubbing sensually against his own as fingers traced down his bare chest, agonizingly slow, until they brushed against the waistband of his pants.

 

Akira sat up and slid out of the bed, careful to not wake Morgana before he locked himself in the adjoining bathroom and turned on the faucet, splashing ice cold water against his face to wash the sleep from his eyes. His gray eyes stared back at him in the mirror, and Akira found himself slumping against the mirror with a groan. _Man, how fucked up am I?_

 

Akechi Goro was dead, and he was feeling particularly betrayed by his body and his subconscious. Akira straightened, glaring at down himself with disgust and irritation before he turned the shower on lukewarm and shucked off his clothes, stepping into the spray of water. As the water trailed down him in rivulets during his pause, he lightly bit down on his bottom lip and let his hand trail downwards. His eyes slid shut as he could almost feel the brush of skin against skin and arms wrap around him, soft lips brushing his ear.

 

_How pathetic of you, Kurusu._

 

While he didn’t particularly mind the figment of imagination being always there in the back of his mind, he’d rather not have it reminding him of things he already knew, despite how good his voice sounded when rough with desire. Akira was almost glad he didn’t have to face the real Goro.

 

After he finally received his release and locked all thoughts of the detective into the back of his mind where they belonged, he spent a few more minutes under the spray of water to clean himself off. Once his hands came away from his hair sud-free, Akira turned off the water and dried himself before changing into his clothes for the day. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Morgana was still asleep, now stretched out on the bed as the sky outside brightened. He checked the clock on the dresser beside his bed, and it read _6:45 AM._

 

He quietly left the room to the kitchen, where he flipped the switch on and checked in his fridge. Morgana had reminded him to go restock on food a few days earlier, so thankfully he actually had enough ingredients to whip up some curry. He took out the bags of vegetables and began to measure them into plates by touch alone, remembering to not put garlic or onion in the portion meant for Morgana.

 

Before he could start heating up the pan, there was a knock at the door. This early in the morning? Akira wiped his hands on a towel and went to answer the door. Unexpectedly, arms threw around him in a hug and a head of curly blonde hair pressed against his chest.

 

“Akira! Good morning!”

 

Akira blinked in befuddlement at the shorter woman, mind still slow from waking up so early. A small smile curled at his lips and he hugged the woman back, glancing at the suitcases on the floor behind her. “Welcome back, Ann. I thought you weren’t coming until tonight?”

 

“I got on an earlier flight since the photoshoot ended early and I’ve already been to Taipei before, so not much to explore there,” Ann smiled. While she opted out of staying in Taipei for longer, Akira could tell she had went shopping, based on her new-looking jacket and expensive-looking jeans. “So, what’s new? I got a text from Ryuji saying that something’s come up.”

 

“Oh, that,” Akira nodded as he opened the door for Ann to come in, letting her bring her suitcase in. She probably saw the light through the window and stopped by his apartment first before heading to her own place one floor above. “I’ve been working on this new investigation with Makoto, but it’s… Complicated.”

 

Ann raised an eyebrow as she plopped herself down on the couch, stretching. “Go on.”

 

Before Akira could reply, his phone went off from his pocket and he checked it. The caller ID revealed it was Louis calling him. Looking to Ann apologetically, he said before answering, “Sorry, I have to take this. It’s work.”

 

Ann just gave him a thumbs up before standing and wandering into the kitchen.

 

“Akira? Sorry for the early call, but the lab analysis is done. I would’ve called you in a couple hours, but there’s a problem…”

 

“What is it?” Akira frowned. Before Louis could answer, a shriek came from the other end and Akira had to pull it away from his ear to wince at the sound. He could hear Louis trying to calm someone down from the other end and finally it quieted down.

 

“So, that,” Louis sighed. “It’s Nagakawa Hana, that other guy’s wife. The one you, Makoto, and that Arisato guy were trying to interview but kicked you guys out? That one.”

 

“What does she want?” Akira pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to deal with this this early in the day.

 

“I don’t know, man—hey, that’s my phone! Ma’am!”

 

A woman’s voice, infuriated, snapped from the other end, “You’re that SIU agent? I demand to speak with you at once in person. Get to the police station and I won’t sue.”

 

The phone hung up and Akira stood there, speechless. He was barely a little more than a week into this investigation and he was already getting threats. Was this a record?

 

Ann called from within the kitchen, “You need to be at work, Akira? I can stay here and keep Morgana company when he wakes up.”

 

“Thanks, Ann. You’re a lifesaver,” Akira replied, grateful. He grabbed a jacket from his room and threw it on while putting on his shoes at the door. Before he closed the door behind him, he called, “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

 

“Take your time. We’re still on for dinner with the others, right?”

 

“Yeah. See you later,” the door clicked shut and Akira headed for the train station.

 

\--

 

Just as Akira predicted, there was a scene at the lobby of the police station. At least the woman hadn’t made her way into the CSI department next door; he was concerned that her voice would have shattered the glass.

 

He quietly slipped into the lobby, careful to not draw attention to himself while the woman had chosen another victim to yell at: one of the department’s negotiators. Akira winced at the sight, already seeing the negotiator beginning to lose her patience with the banshee. Truly the woman resembled a fright despite her perfectly made-up face and styled brown hair. The rage on her face and pompous attitude surely made her more formidable than her expensive-looking four inch heels did. Everything about her looked expensive, from her pale blue cashmere cardigan and silken top to her gray skirt. Obviously this must be Nagakawa Hana, the tycoon’s wife; from the glimpse Akira caught of her face, she barely looked a few years older than she did in the family picture that hung from the wall in Nagakawa’s home despite it likely being almost ten years since it was taken. Perhaps it was the botox?

 

“Akira!” Louis whispered from behind the profiler. A hand grasped his upper arm and gently pulled him further away from the scene. The taller man looked utterly exhausted when Akira got a good look at his face.

 

“Man, are you okay?” Akira frowned. Louis wordlessly pulled out his phone, revealing a broken screen. Akira thought, _At least it looks like it still works._

 

Louis sighed, “Thankfully the one-year warranty isn’t up yet, so I can replace this damn thing. It’s not like I was the one who threw it on the ground in a tantrum and attacked it with knife shoes, so it meets Pineapple’s policy, right?”

 

Akira shrugged, “I wouldn’t know. Pineapple phone’s batteries suck anyways. Just get Palsung.”

 

“No, I’ve been a loyal customer of Pineapple for years!” Louis huffed. “Don’t shove that Palsung propaganda down my throat.”

 

“Your loss,” Akira shook his head. “Has she calmed down enough that she wouldn’t destroy my property?”

 

Louis glared over Akira’s shoulder at the Mrs. of the Nagakawa family with scrutiny in his eyes. “The negotiator’s doing a pretty damn good job so far, I think. She’s not as loud anymore.”

 

Akira’s eyebrows shot up. “She was louder than this earlier?” At Louis’s silent nod, Akira sighed and stepped back towards the scene. “I’ll take care of whatever she wants.”

 

“Don’t get yourself killed,” Louis warned. Akira didn’t reply, though he heeded the man’s advice in his slow approach of the woman.

 

Akira cleared in throat, catching the attention of Nagakawa Hana, and gave a polite smile. He spoke, “Good morning, Nagakawa-san. I am Kurusu Akira, one of the investigators assigned to this case. How can I help you?”

 

A finger was jabbed inches in front of his face, and his shoulders tensed in preparation to bear the full brunt of her rage. Mrs. Nagakawa was a beautiful woman barely touched by age despite being in her mid to late thirties, yet seeing her up close and getting into his face was getting rather uncomfortable and any thoughts of her beauty were quickly shattered by her murderous light brown eyes.

 

“ _You_ ,” Nagakawa hissed, manicured finger jabbed into his chest, “How dare you!”

 

Akira had a feeling about what she was angry about, but he decided to play it safe and ask, “...Is there a problem, Nagakawa-san?”

 

“Yes, there is a problem. You are poking your head where you shouldn’t. My husband and I have managed to keep a steady marriage in the better part of this decade, and I refuse to let some stupid investigation crumble everything.”

 

Recalling the picture he saw, Akira highly doubted it was as steady a marriage as she made it out to be.

 

“Don’t think I don’t know why you brought up that slut Nakamura in my house,” her eyes narrowed to slits, “That kitsune has been trying to snake her way back into my husband’s lap since before Tadashi was born and just can’t take a hint that Haruka is done with her. That bitch nearly ruined my marriage by tempting my husband into her bed, but I won’t let that happen again.”

 

Akira’s mouth hung slightly open as he stared speechless at the woman as she ranted. Was everything she was saying true about Chou? From what he saw of the psychiatrist, she seemed genuinely interested in helping the investigation (her omission of important information regarding her relations with Nagakawa notwithstanding). However, everything the venomous woman was spitting out sent alarms ringing about Chou’s true intentions. He already suspected Chou of having an ulterior motive after seeing Nagakawa’s reaction to his question on Sunday evening, but this came as a surprise to the investigator.

 

“So, you better stay out of my family business or get a warrant,” the woman sneered at Akira before she turned on her heel and left the station.

 

“What a brat,” the negotiator who stood there listening muttered before shaking her head and taking her leave. Louis approached Akira from behind with a sigh, patting him on the shoulder with sympathy.

 

“Sorry you had to deal with that… We couldn’t get her to leave otherwise.”

 

Akira replied, “It’s fine; I got some new information from her regarding the investigation anyways.”

 

“Well, that’s good. Why don’t you wait here while I grab the report from the printer?”

 

“Sure thing,” Akira nodded as Louis disappeared down the hall. He jumped when he heard a voice behind him, not hearing someone approach.

 

“I apologize for my sister-in-law’s behavior,” a man in his fifties dressed casually in a sweater and trousers stood there with a sheepish expression, “She refused to listen to me. I know you’ve encountered a bit of a roadblock regarding your investigation, so I would like to help.”

 

“Sorry, what is your name?”

 

“Oh,” the man laughed, realizing his slip. He replied, “Nagakawa Hiro. Haruka’s my brother, but admittedly we’ve drifted apart over the years especially after our father gave us more control over the family company. He has lost sight of his path and refuses to heed my warnings about the things he gets up to, and it has gotten too out of hand. I have a proposition, Kurusu-san.”

 

Akira stared with skepticism at the man, but nodded for him to continue. He crossed his arms.

 

“I don’t know why your investigation has led you to my brother, but hearing about it is a relief. I love my brother and I care about him, but not to the point that I’ll defend his actions. I require your help in apprehending Haruka for his crimes.”

 

He raised an eyebrow at Nagakawa Hiro, uncrossing his arms in surprise. “Crimes?”

 

Nagakawa Hiro sighed, shoulders sagging slightly. “It isn’t anything I can prove because Haruka is remarkably careful about not leaving any traces, but I have witnessed his phonecalls and interactions with… Let’s just say some infamous people. What he’s doing puts his family in danger, and I don’t want to see my nephew Tadashi get hurt by Haruka’s ties,” he paused, looking around the area warily.

 

It suddenly dawned on Akira that the brother was speaking in hushed tones the whole time and while his posture was calm and collected, to the discerning eye he was tense. Akira questioned, “Is there something bothering you?”

 

Nagakawa smiled at him, “Am I that obvious? Yes, there is something. It’s better if we discussed this another time today and at another place without listening walls. Why don’t you come to my home after lunch today? I would also suggest that you bring another investigator with you.”

 

“Of course,” Akira nodded.

 

“I will give the department a call with my address and the best time you should come,” Nagakawa said. “Have a nice day, Kurusu-san.”

 

At Nagakawa’s retreating form, Akira waved at him in farewell, still blinking in befuddlement at what just happened.The Nagakawa family seemed so unreal—it reminded him of a TV drama. Was this some sort of live-action he was being filmed in but didn’t realize? Akira just sighed and shook his head, already feeling a headache from all this chaos.

 

Speaking of which, he still had to give Nakamura’s office a call. As he awaited Louis’s return, he pulled out his phone and dialed for the psychiatrist’s office. A voice not Chou’s own greeted after a single ring, “Hello, this is Tenkane Clinic, how may I help you?”

 

Akira paused. _Eh, the call redirected?_ He replied, “This is Special Investigator Kurusu Akira, and I was wondering when Dr. Nakamura Chou would be available for another interview.”

 

“Oh, sorry, she’d not available anytime soon. She’s still in Inaba for a family emergency, but the last time she updated me, she said she should be back by this Wednesday. I can schedule an appointment time for your interview for that day.”

 

“That would be great; thank you very much.”

 

“It’s no problem! Was that all you needed, Kurusu-san?”

 

“Yes. Thank you for your help, I hope you have a nice day,” Akira hung up the call and let out a sigh. It looked like the investigation from Chou’s end had to be delayed. Even more bothersome was that Nagakawa’s brother’s words suggested that this investigation might turn into two different cases… If that was the case, there would be no feasible way for him to handle both at the same time, but he didn’t intend to let go of Nagakawa’s case just yet when the tycoon was so suspicious.

 

A yellow manila fold lightly smacked Akira’s shoulder as Louis asked, “Hey, you okay there, ‘kira? You looked like steam was about to come out of your ears from all the thinking.”

 

“I’m doing okay; just been thinking about that case, that’s all,” Akira replied. He took the folder and flipped it open to see not only the lab report but a printed copy of a file labelled _Cybusnet._ On the file was a name and ID picture of a boy no more than seventeen with dyed ombre teal and silver-tipped hair—Ginki Kaoru.

 

Louis explained, “Apparently the Ginki family heard of the investigation and gave Cybusnet a call about releasing the kid’s info. According to the kid’s uncle, he passed out suddenly while waiting at the hospital for him to get off work before the kid was declared comatose.”

 

Akira nodded, eyes furrowed before he closed the folder and put it away under his arm. He probably should have brought his briefcase, but in his hurry he left it at the door. “Thanks, Louis. I really appreciate your help.”

 

“Anytime, dude,” Louis smiled. “Are we still on for dinner now that Ann’s back today?”

 

“Yeah. 6:30 at the buffet,” Akira replied.

 

“Great! I’ll be there. Man, this case already doesn’t feel like it’ll get closed anytime soon. This’ll be a good way to kick back and relax a bit.”

 

Akira wondered if he could truly ever relax during this case.

 

\--

 

The morning air was already warming when Akira returned to his apartment where Ann and Morgana sat on the couch watching the TV broadcast. He waved tiredly at Ann before sitting down in the armchair. His phone vibrated in his pocket with an incoming text.

 

> **Makoto:** so Nagakawa Hiro, huh? I’m interested in what he has to say. When do we get to interview him?

 

Akira’s fingers audibly tapped against the glass screen as he replied.

 

> **Akira:** today. he gave me a call on my way back home n said that 3:30 is the best time for us to go ovr. he lives in yongen-jaya with his wife and daughter. hold up ill text u his address

 

Akira glanced at the address he had written in the corner of the yellow manila folder containing the new case files, copying it down in text form before he sent it off to Makoto.

 

> **Makoto:** great, thanks. see you there.

 

Akira tucked his phone away and opened the folder on the table, giving up any care about Ann seeing his work. He looked over the lab analysis, paying half an ear to the TV as the main characters were trying to solve some murder through questionable means. He was too tired to start pointing out all of its flaws.

 

“So, ‘kira, are you working on the case with the sudden comas?” Ann wondered.

 

“Yes,” Akira replied, looking to the blonde once he determined he couldn’t focus on the files at that moment. Still pestering his thoughts was the psychiatrist. “It’s going along rather slowly, though. But, there’s something important you need to hear.”

 

“About the case?” Ann raised an eyebrow. Akira shrugged, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair.

 

“Not exactly. It might be related, but we don’t know enough yet,” he replied. “I came across what looked like the Metaverse last Friday on the train.”

 

Ann listened intently at Akira’s words as he recounted the events. Once he finished, she questioned, “What did the others have to say?”

 

“Futaba suggested that there might be new Persona-users. I wouldn’t know where to start though, but Igor from the Velvet Room said that I would be able to sense another Wild Card.”

 

“How would you ‘sense’ a Wild Card, though?”

 

Akira paused at her words with a furrow in his eyebrow. He did encounter Arisato, a past Wild Card, didn’t he? Did he feel anything differently around the blue-haired man? When his mind drew up a blank, he shook his head, “I have no idea. I don’t even know if it’s an obvious sensing ability or what, since I just met an old Wild Card in the past two weeks…”

 

“Another Wild Card?!” Ann’s eyes widened. “You didn’t tell me this!”

 

Akira smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, it kinda slipped my mind after everything’s that’s been going on. There’s a police-sanctioned group called the Shadow Investigation and Containment Unit which handles stuff similar to the Metaverse. Apparently the Metaverse wasn’t the first time and there were these separate incidents in the past since 1996. There’s even a cognitive world inside the TV even, but from what Arisato-san, the past Wild Card, explained to me, it’s only localized in a small town called Inaba.”

 

“That’s… A lot to take in, wow,” Ann commented. “So, do these guys know about all of us?”

 

“They don’t know everyone who was a Phantom Thief, but we won’t be able to keep it a secret any longer if we’re going to work with them on this new cognitive ‘verse.”

 

Ann nodded. “Well, when the time comes, I will definitely help out in between jobs. My next modelling contract in Beijing will be toward the end of the month in March, so there’s plenty of time for me to hang around you guys. Do you think we’ll be able to figure out the entrance to this cognitive world?”

 

“Maybe, but I’m not sure how. That internet network hasn’t showed up in my phone since.”

 

“Hm, maybe…” Ann looked thoughtfully at Akira. “Maybe we should focus on hunting down the new Persona-users if there are any. That way, if they have access to the cognitive ‘verse then that access can transfer to us.”

 

Morgana spoke up from beside her, “That’s a good idea, Ann!”

 

“We’ll just have to keep an eye out for anyone who’s suspicious,” Akira nodded. “It’ll be hard since we won’t be able to know definitively who the Persona-users are. Maybe since anyone who’s been in the Metaverse or something like it can hear Morgana, the new Persona-users will be able to hear him talk. Arisato was able to hear Morgana too.”

 

Ann brightened at the idea. “Great! So that’s the plan now. Morgana, would you be up for that?”

 

“Sure, just let me know when you want to bring me to test for Persona-users.”

 

Ann clapped her hands together, grinning. “Let’s hope this turns out. Why don’t we head for breakfast? I’ll pay.”

 

\--

 

The gated house was surprisingly humble for someone of the Nagakawa family, with its white brick walls and cottage-style architecture. The gate Akira and Makoto stood in front of was black and iron-wrought, standing at most to Akira’s chest. It didn’t look like it was meant to keep people out, but rather to enclose the garden of vegetables and flowers that laid on either side of the narrow cobbled walkway leading up the the small porch where the wooden front door stood. The gate had a basic locking mechanism that only needed to be lifted for it to open.

 

Bird chirped around the investigators as they prepared to go in. Akira unlocked the gate and opened it for the two to enter the quiet area. Once they entered the shade of the porch, Makoto knocked on the door. There was shuffled heard from within before the door clicked open and Nagakawa Hiro greeted them with a smile.

 

“Come on in. We can talk in the living room.”

 

“Thank you, Nagakawa-san—Uwah!” Makoto found herself stumbling when a large furry form jumped from behind Nagakawa, greeting her with a ‘boof!’ and a lick to her face.

 

Nagakawa laughed, “Down, Yuki.”

 

The large blue-eyed Siberian Husky let out a whine in complaint before letting go of Makoto. Further inside was another dog of the same breed but smaller, looking at the two strangers shyly before disappearing around the corner. Nagakawa opened the door wider for them the come in, holding on to Yuki’s collar so she wouldn’t bolt outside. He said, “Sorry about that; Yuki loves people. Go ahead and take a seat.”

 

“It’s fine,” Makoto held back a grimace as she wiped some of the slobber off her face with her sleeve. Akira was silently laughing at her predicament as the two found their seats on the couch.

 

A faintly accented female voice called from the kitchen around the corner, “Are the investigators here, Hiro? I’ll brew some tea.”

 

“Thanks, Ayana,” Hiro called back. He looked to the duo, “Would oolong tea be alright with you? I apologize that we don’t have much of a selection; we haven’t restocked our tea in awhile.”

 

“That’s perfectly fine, Nagakawa-san,” Makoto smiled. Akira hummed in agreement before he looked around at the walls. The living room looked much more relaxed than the one in Nagakawa Haruka’s home; the walls were painted beige and some basic metal art hung from the walls. There were many more framed photos scattered around the area, many of which were candid photos that caught bright, laughing smiles or unexpectedly confused expressions. Hanging from the wall closest to Akira was a picture of Nagakawa Hiro and a young girl—it looked that that young woman Zuni who opened the door for them at the tycoon’s housing unit—throwing flour at each other in the kitchen with mirth-filled expressions.

 

Another photo sitting on the table beside the couch drew Akira’s eye. The child, Zuni, stood in front of an elementary school with a bright smile and curly black hair much more unruly than he saw Sunday evening. Beside her stood another girl dressed in the same uniform and taller than Zuni, shins covered in bandages and straight black hair cut to a few inches above the shoulder, falling limply to her neck. Something seemed familiar about her dark eyes and pale pallor…

 

“That’s my daughter Zuni with her friend. That was their fifth year of elementary school,” Nagakawa spoke with fondness in his eyes when he saw Akira examining the photo. “She just finished her first year of university at Tokyo U a few weeks ago. She’s very intelligent and is going to get her degree in mathematics.”

 

“You must be proud,” Akira replied. Nagakawa hummed in affirmation just as a tall umber-skinned woman stepped from the kitchen carrying a tray of tea for them. She looked remarkably similar to her daughter, save for the lack of mixed features and her long straightened black hair braided from her face. Her dark brown eyes were warm when she smiled at Akira and Makoto.

 

“Good afternoon. I’m glad to hear that the police are finally going to look into my brother-in-law’s work,” the woman said. “My name is Ayana; there’s no need to be so formal with me.”

 

Nagakawa coughed from his seat, looking somewhat embarrassed. “Then I suppose you may just refer to me as Hiro.”

 

“Thank you, Ayana-san,” Akira nodded to the woman when he accepted the tea. Makoto gave her thanks too and Ayana seated herself beside her husband.

 

She commented to her husband, “Haku just came by a few hours ago when you were out, so he and Zuni are working on their Social Psychology project upstairs. They seem pretty intensely focused.”

 

“No wonder why it’s pretty quiet. I’d expect some music up there at least,” Hiro commented.

 

“Music is distracting anyways.”

 

Hiro shook his head before looking to the investigators. He said, voice now serious, “I asked that you two come here for a reason. I hinted at it in our first discussion, Kurusu-san, but I was unable to share more lest one of Haruka’s ears caught wift of my movements.”

 

“He sounds a lot more important than just a trading tycoon,” Akira commented. Makoto remained silent, listening with interest in her eyes.

 

“You’re right. He has many political ties that back his business and cover up his tracks,” Hiro replied, “And ties among that shadows that do his dirty work. If he didn’t have multiple politicians wrapped around his fingers or blackmail material to force those who are unlucky to do his bidding, he’d have an entire tower of criminal charges from drug trafficking to embezzlement.”

 

Makoto raised an eyebrow at Hiro, “Do you have any evidence of these crimes?”

 

Hiro smiled a mirthless smile. He replied, “That is precisely the problem; he leaves behind no tracks. I could name some of the people he was involved with, but it would be hard pressed to find his ties to them. After all, he often uses a middleman to deal with those the likes of mafiosos.”

 

“We could still try if you name them and the particular crimes he was involved in,” Akira pointed out. Hiro watched Akira with eyes of scrutiny before he finally nodded.

 

“Kaneshiro Junya, who’s already been in prison since 2016. Haruka was using Kaneshiro to blow smoke by sending a bunch of gang members to rob himself. They made off with 100 million yen before it was recovered on a cargo ship a few miles from the docks. This stunt cut any suspicious ties between him and the human trafficking circle the gang members were connected to.”

 

Makoto and Akira both gaped at Hiro’s tale. Makoto asked, “Seriously?”

 

“Like I said, it would be difficult to find evidence of Haruka’s order,” Hiro sighed. “I am also certain that Haruka has had ties to Shido’s machinations before he confessed to his crimes on national TV, but the only piece of evidence you’d find there is that Shido had multiple stocks in his trading company.”

 

“And that’s only circumstantial,” Makoto muttered.

 

“Exactly,” Hiro nodded. “Haruka has also had connections to the leaders of multiple cults and gangs, however I couldn’t discover their names. It may be prudent to look into them.”

 

“Will do,” Akira said, though he was hesitant. Learning about this from Hiro uncovered much more about the tycoon, but it was a lot of evidence they’d have to track down in order to bring charges. “How did you figure this out about Haruka?”

 

“I didn’t know about this at first until years later. I have eavesdropped on multiple phone conversations and I have seen him invite suspicious people into his car when I hang around his company building when I get off work from the family’s real estate agency. His behavior also became suspicious because he has grown arrogant over the years; not to mention he mysteriously ends up with millions more cash than projected for his company at the end of every year.”

 

Makoto jotted this down in her notepad. “Can you tell us anymore about the specific phone conversations?”

 

“Of course. My memory may be a bit fuzzy since it’s been a few years. In the meantime while I remember the earlier phone calls, there is someone who I hope you’ll look into,” Hiro replied. Akira raised an eyebrow.

 

“Who might that be?” Makoto inquired.

 

“Kitaya Sora.”

 

Akira inhaled what’s left of his tea and started coughing, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

 

“Oh no, I’ll get some water,” Ayana panicked and hurried into the kitchen. Makoto rubbed Akira’s back to help calm his coughing fit after choking.

 

“Are you alright, Kurusu-san?” Hiro frowned in concern. Akira eagerly drank the glass of icy water Ayana brought back from the kitchen and offered to him.

 

Once the pain in his lungs subsided, Akira rasped out, “I just wasn’t expecting the name, that’s all. I talked to Kitaya last Saturday and while he is still a suspect, I wasn’t expecting him to have ties to your brother.”

 

“I wouldn’t have expected him to either, Kurusu-san,” Hiro replied with a grave voice. “I have high respects for the man, but I heard Haruka corresponding with him over the phone about four weeks ago. I hope it isn’t what I am think it is, but it may be beneficial to keep eyes on him in case of the worst case scenario.”

 

“I agree,” Makoto said. “However, we can’t make any promises that we’ll be able to open a case on your brother, Hiro-san.”

 

“As I expected. Any kind of investigation helps. I might even contact a private investigator if needed.”

 

“We could suggest some good PIs the department trusts if you’d like,” Makoto offered. Hiro shook his head.

 

“That is perfectly fine; I’m afraid that the common PI would have their life endangered if they go after Haruka. There is an anonymous PI that operates on the internet under the alias ‘Thorn.’ From what I’ve reviewed, they have had a 100% success rate. They don’t have an official site, but someone else operates a fansite that has a forum. All the users on said forum have been Thorn’s client or know one of their clients.”

 

Makoto and Akira exchanged an uneasy glance, both suspicious of the anonymous PI. Akira commented, “We haven’t heard of Thorn.”

 

“That is to be expected,” Hiro nodded. “Thorn operates by anonymously tipping police to the locations of different pieces of evidence, and the perpetrators in each case are apprehended in the most legal means. Of course, when the approach is unsuccessful, I have heard they would take a more direct path in tracking down criminals.”

 

“Intriguing,” Makoto mused. “Could you write down the URL address to this fansite? Given Thorn’s reputation to solve cases while following the law, they might be helpful to us.”

 

“Of course,” Hiro replied before taking out a pen and paper. He paused when a crash sounded from upstairs. He frowned, “What is going on?”

 

“I’ll check on them,” Ayana stood from her seat, but she didn’t need to move any further when her daughter, looking exhausted stepped down the stairs dressed in a black sweatshirt with a Star Trail design printed on its front and blue skinny jeans. A dark purple bruise was forming at her temple, looking like she had caught the swinging end of a pole. Behind her followed a taller man looking more battered than she was, a large bruise on his neck partially hidden by the neckline of his sweatshirt and the cascade of tied back shoulder-length black hair. If they were a couple, said bruise was too large to be a hickey.

 

_Black hair…?_

 

Akira froze, vision honing in on the man. It was Shirogeki.

 

“Zuni?” Ayana called with a worried voice. “What happened? You two look like you’ve been in a fight!”

 

Zuni froze in mid step, swinging her head in the direction of her mother’s voice with widened eyes. She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck, “I felt a spider crawling on me and I panicked. I accidentally hit Haku a bit too hard when I was trying to fling it off, but then we both went crashing down so I hit my head on the dresser. It’s fine though! I grabbed the first-aid kit and Haku helped patch us both up. We’re going to meet again tomorrow to finish the project; Akio needs Haku back home soon.”

 

Shirogeki’s voice shook as he agreed, “Yeah… That’s right.”

 

“...Okay,” Ayana was reluctant in accepting Zuni’s story, expression baffled. Akira too was baffled by Zuni’s story. The mother’s gaze grew distracted for a moment as she looked in surprise at something behind Shirogeki. “Oh, who’s that?”

 

Akira followed her gaze to see a boy standing to barely Shirogeki’s shoulder in height, dressed in a white sweatshirt and yellow and green striped basketball shorts. It was difficult to see his features from this angle, especially since the boy was looking down and focused on the hardwood steps of the stairs.

 

Both Zuni and Shirogeki were speechless for a moment before Zuni apologized, “Sorry, I forgot to tell you that… Wiz… Wiz was coming. He’s our classmate’s brother, but our classmate couldn’t meet us here because she had important obligations at work. So, she dropped him off a bit late when you were out and asked us to help tutor him for high school entrance exams, but I couldn’t refuse because she’s so nice and Wiz is a good kid if he tries.”

 

The boy looked up to glare at Zuni as Ayana replied, “Oh, alright. Remember to let me know next time he comes over so I can make more snacks for your study sessions.”

 

Ayana’s voice was muffled to Akira’s ears when the boy finally looked up in irritation at the girl, looking like he was about to lunge forward and strangle her. Now that the boy was no longer hidden by Shirogeki’s arm, his face was in full view for Akira to identify.

 

Hair the same shade of green as he saw on the train, though no longer greased away from his face. Yellow eyes that looked defiantly at Zuni. A stylized multicolored question mark printed on his sweatshirt. However, what threw Akira off was why that man was suddenly a pubescent boy needing tutoring from the two almost-second-year college students.

 

Despite the moment of confusion, the boy turned to meet his shocked gray eyes, yellow eyes widening with shock as well, and in the moment he _knew._

 

Akira sprang from his seat, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy. “ _You!_ ”

 

The boy grabbed Shirogeki by the hand and hissed loudly, “That’s the suspicious man I saw on the train! Run!”

 

The duo sprinted down the stairs and out the front door with Zuni not far behind them, and Akira was quick to follow. He ignored the shocked cries from the Nagakawa couple and Makoto as he chased the trio out to beyond the gates.

 

Suddenly, he found himself plummeting forward onto the sidewalk when his foot caught something solid. He groaned, rubbing at his bruised nose as he pushed himself up. His eyes widened when he saw a bus at the end of the street and Shirogeki and the boy stepping on. The boy stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry at Akira before the bus took off.

 

“Shit,” Akira cursed. He looked to the side, seeing Zuni leaning casually against the fence with a faint smirk on her face.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t see you. I must’ve accidentally tripped you or something, because I was resting against the fence and I just felt your foot catch my leg.”

 

Akira stared at her with mouth hung open in disbelief, but the young woman didn’t see his expression. He sputtered, “What… What the hell is going on?”

 

Zuni stared at the spot past his shoulder with the most intense deadpan he had ever seen. She gestured to her milky blue eyes, “Hell if I know. I can’t see anything, after all.”

 

Akira slumped against the sidewalk, fighting down the wave of irritation at the blatant but logical lie that came out of the student’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When everything backfires in your face because Zuni has some damn good hearing. Also because these three idiots don't know how to be discreet, they are now the primary suspects for the new Persona-users. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Also, the first episode of P5A is so amazing. Ren is so gorgeous. Goro is gorgeous. The character dynamics between everyone so far are just asdffghjjkl.
> 
> Next chapter: A confrontation with Chou reveals her true intentions and Akira is now forced into a game of cat-and-mouse.
> 
>  
> 
> **NEW CONFIDANT ESTABLISHED**
> 
> _Nagakawa Zuni - The Justice/The Judgement - Rank 1_
> 
> (Zuni represents Justice from Haku's end and Judgement from Akira's end)
> 
>  
> 
>  _kitsune_ \- means 'fox' in Japanese, but the context is more a reference to the fox yokai temptresses in mythology
> 
>  _Palsung_ \- means 'eight stars' in Korean...also inspired by a certain real life phone company
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://umbraphage.tumblr.com)


	7. 11/03/2024

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira tests Haku's boundaries and later he learns the truth behind Chou's manipulations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning for mentions of past rape in the last part of the chapter.

_March 11th 2024_

 

It was _12:00 AM_ when the first droplets of cool rain dripped onto his cheeks after he stepped out of the train station in Minato-ku. It was soon to be followed by thin sheets of rain as thunder could be faintly heard in the distance, and he reached into his bag for his plain black umbrella. With its black canvas as a shield, he entered the crowd of people on the sidewalk, wondering to himself if he should have come a bit earlier.

 

After that Saturday, Akira had been tearing his hair out over the suspicious college students and the supposed green-haired delinquent. Furthermore, Makoto had been lecturing that he shouldn’t have scared them off like that especially if that strange boy was in fact the same man he saw on the train (though she still remained skeptical even on this Tuesday). After Shirogeki made off with that boy, Zuni had evaded all of their questions so smoothly that Akira almost wondered if she could have been a Phantom Thief like him if she were older, but he and Makoto were certain that she was now officially their opponent—regardless if she was truly involved in the case or if she was simply involved with this new cognitive universe. Either way, it was a cause for concern.

 

Those pale gold eyes taunting him had been at the forefront of Akira’s mind, bugging him incessantly to the point that he hasn’t seen any images of his past in the last few days. Maybe if he got angry more often it would work as therapy.

 

_What a fool you are if you think you can evade me._

 

Akira nearly smacked right into the lightpost when he started at the familiar voice. With a cursory glance at his surroundings, he determined that no one saw his lapse in attention and shot a glare at the rippling image of rust colored hair and gleaming red eyes before he continued walking.

 

_You can’t keep on running away, Kurusu._

 

He was right. But Akira was rather firmly set on ignoring the figment of his memories in favor of his plans for the day. There was silence now after he had walked a few blocks to stop in front of the Cybusnet building. Warily, he looked over his shoulder at the sidewalk behind him.

 

There was no sign of the image. Letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Akira refocused on the towering building and pushed through the glass doors into the heated lobby away from the rain. He let his still-wet umbrella hang closed from his wrist in hopes it would dry sometime during his time inside the building and started toward the elevators. He smiled in greetings at the receptionist who waved at him from behind the marble desk, where a TV was set up on the wall behind the receptionist. Its volume was on low as the news broadcasted on the screen.

 

“...one of the top stockbrokers in the area has been caught and apprehended this last Saturday for a multitude of crimes from tax evasion, fraud, to even corruption when it was discovered that he has relations to the mafia and the triads in Hong Kong.”

 

A blurry video of a man in a black suit with his face blurred out played on the screen before it minimized to reveal a news anchorwoman presenting the information from behind the black desk she sat behind.

 

“Because the police has requested us to not share sensitive information regarding the case, we are currently unable to release information about his identity until he was been interrogated and the progression of his trial has started. Meanwhile, it has been reported that it is not the police who was able to gather evidence on his whereabouts because he has been able to keep up his crimes behind closed doors for years based on multiple complaints from his clients. Instead, it is Thorn, an anonymous private investigator who has amassed a great following online after a series of successful cases since three years ago.”

 

Akira froze in his step to stare at the TV with surprise. From what he heard from Nagakawa Hiro, Thorn seemed like a shadow on the internet. Could it be that they were tackling larger cases for bigger visibility? However, it wouldn’t make sense since Thorn is still faceless to all.

 

“In our pursuit of the details behind this investigation, we were able to contact Thorn and they agreed to an interview about the case among other subjects around their past with remotely helping the police. We will begin airing the interview shortly after this break.”

 

When the news broke for a commercial break, Akira hurried into the nearest empty elevator and pressed for the fourth floor, turning on his phone and dialing Makoto’s number while he was at it. The phone rang three times before the investigator finally picked up.

 

“Akira?” Makoto’s concerned voice spoke from the other end.

 

“Did you just see the news broadcast?”

 

A distracted ‘hm’ came from Makoto. “No, I’m out right now headed for one of the contacts Hiro pointed us toward. What’s going on?”

 

“Apparently that PI Thorn is going to be interviewed on TV in a few minutes.”

 

“Seriously? That’s unexpected. From what I’ve researched, this Thorn doesn’t like being out in public at all. Could this be a copycat?”

 

“Unlikely,” Akira shook his head, “I don’t think they are popular enough to warrant fans trying to be them yet. There also stands the possibility that Thorn won’t actually be showing their face on screen.”

 

“You mean like L?” Makoto sounded like she was trying to contain a laugh. Akira raised an eyebrow.

 

“L?”

 

“It’s an anonymous detective who works to hunt down this serial murderer in a crime show I used to watch as a kid,” Makoto explained. “But since you and I are busy working, we’ll have to watch a recording of it online together later today.”

 

“Yes, let’s do that. What else were you able to learn about Thorn?”

 

“Apparently Thorn started appearing under that name about 4 and a half years ago in Taiwan and Hong Kong. I only mean that in a technical sense: when Thorn would actually drop off physical evidence the police couldn’t procure on their own, they left behind a freshly cut rose and a note in cursive calligraphy every time in the mailbox. Naturally, Thorn never showed up on security cameras so it is likely that they either were able to hack into the system with a looped video or or had a contact to do it for them. Either way, they make sure to leave no tracks whatsoever.”

 

“It seems like this Thorn likes the thrill of working with the police like this,” Akira commented.

 

“Huh? What makes you say that?”

 

“Leaving behind a rose and a stylized note suggests that Thorn physically goes to the police station rather than sending someone to do it for them. The act of procuring the physical evidence instead of just tipping the police off also reveals that Thorn likes taking things into their own hands, not to mention it’s difficult to gather evidence without a proper warrant depending on who you’re getting it from. Based on this, they also either lack self-preservation or they are in their early twenties or even late teens given their propensity for flair.”

 

“...That actually makes sense,” Makoto agreed after a moment of letting his words sink in. “What’s also interesting is that I can’t pinpoint which exact location Thorn is working from. The recent cases in the past two years are scattered between Tokyo, Hong Kong, and Taipei—at least the cases in which Thorn actually provides physical evidence themselves. The other cases in other cities were solved only through anonymous tipping from multiple pay phones either in Tokyo, Taipei, or the southern tip of Taiwan.”

 

“So, Thorn must be working a job that requires frequent flying,” Akira concluded, “But it’s probably not business related if my guess about their age is correct. Maybe entertainment?”

 

“Who would have the time to balance crime solving and working in the entertainment industry?”

 

 _Akechi Goro,_ Akira thought but he didn’t speak the name aloud. Then again, Goro never had to do any flying, did he? He replied, “Point. I’ll just have to look into each individual case Thorn solved to profile them, if the TMPD hasn’t already sent other profilers on their case.”

 

“Alright. I’ll have to let you go now; I’m right outside the building I’m supposed to meet the contact at. Let me know how your questioning with Shirogeki goes.”

 

“Will do. Talk to you later,” Akira hung up the call as he was halfway down the fourth floor hallway. Soon he found himself in front of the door to Ito’s office, which was closed yet again. He raised his hand to knock but paused at the sound of talking from the other side of the door. He quietly pressed his ear to the door once he determined that no one else was in the hallway to witness his suspicious behavior.

 

“...look, Help Wizard, the fact is that Gabriel’s stuck in that place…” The voice, Shirogeki’s undoubtedly, was too muffled and hushed for Akira to make out every word. Straining his ears, Akira listened for the rest of the conversation.

 

“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?” another voice—was it that green-haired boy?—hissed, “I panicked, okay?”

 

Shirogeki spoke again, but Akira couldn’t hear make out his words.

 

The other voice snapped, “Fine, you paranoid human. I’ll figure things out on the other plane. Just sit tight and wait for me to come back.”

 

“What?! Don’t you dare just leave me like this; you haven’t even answered all my questions—shit!” There was a loud crash from behind the door of what sounded like someone tumbling to the floor with the thudding of multiple heavy books. Taking this as his cue, Akira grasped the doorknob and pushed the door open.

 

Inside, Shirogeki was looking quite disheveled on the carpeted floor with rumpled clothes and covered in multiple books and binders that had fallen from the heavy shelf that was now resting on his shoulder. Shirogeki groaned in pain, grimacing when he saw Akira enter, “Oh, hell.”

 

Akira hurried over to pull the shelf back up to it was standing again, eyebrows furrowed at seeing the state Shirogeki was in. He offered his hand for the young man to take. “Are you alright, Shirogeki-san?”

 

Shirogeki hesitated before taking the offered hand and pulling himself up. He winced while rubbing at his sore shoulder and replied, “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Kurusu-san.”

 

“Do you need an ice pack? I can run to the resting area on this floor and get one from the freezer,” Akira inquired. Shirogeki stared at him with pleasant surprise.

 

“Oh, that would be great; thank you.”

 

Akira nodded to him with a smile before leaving the office. It did not take long for him to find the resting area down the hallway and grab an ice pack with a towel. When he returned, most of the books and binders were already back on the shelves and Shirogeki was stacking the rest on top of the shelf beside a large glass cube with a spherical spacecraft (Akira should have gotten used to Ito’s tastes by now: it was the Omega Star from _Star Battles_ ) made of tiny air bubbles encapsulate from within. That must have been what gave Shirogeki that painful-looking bump on his head.

 

When Shirogeki saw that Akira had returned, he gave the investigator a grateful smile when he took the ice pack wrapped in the towel and pressed it to his head. He sat down in Ito’s office chair, rolling his bruised shoulder as he looked at Akira with an eyebrow raised in question. He asked, “What brings you here, Kurusu-san?”

 

“Since I didn’t get a chance to finish collecting evidence last time, I was hoping to look at some of Ito’s other journals while here.”

 

Shirogeki relaxed at his explanation and nodded. “That’s fine! Go ahead. Sorry about that shelf though: I just put everything back without paying attention to order. I was going to arrange them correctly later today when my shoulder stops throbbing.”

 

“Do you need another ice pack?”

 

The younger man shook his head. “No, thank you though. How is the investigation going though?”

 

As Akira wandered toward the shelves with his fingers tracing the spines of the journals, he only spared Shirogeki a nonchalant glance while replying, “It’s proceeding slowly, but we’ve been getting new leads thanks to your friend Zuni’s father.”

 

From his periphery, he saw Shirogeki stiffen at the mention of Zuni. The student stammered, “R-right… That’s good to hear.”

 

Akira commented with levity, “You and Zuni seem to care for each other.”

 

Shirogeki didn’t reply, only staring at Akira with confusion and suspicion. So, Akira continued pushing his boundaries.

 

“You seem to be very affectionate with each other, no?”

 

Shirogeki blinked. “What do you mean?”

 

“That bruise on your neck,” Akira replied. Shirogeki immediately raised his hand to his neck, exposed by the top few buttons of his white button up left open. The younger man frowned, as though wondering if the bruise was still noticeable even after three days, before his eyes widened in shock.

 

“What? No! We’re not a couple; it’s not like that!” Shirogeki shook his head, cheeks and ears flushed red. His flustered expression was only emphasized by how pale his pallor was.

 

Akira raised an eyebrow and pressed, “Really? I would’ve thought otherwise.”

 

“Well, it just isn’t,” Shirogeki muttered, averting his eyes. “She doesn’t swing that way.”

 

Even though Akira omitted that he already knew that bruise was not from any amorous activities, he found that getting a rise out of the student was amusing. Hopefully, if he pushed Shirogeki’s buttons even more, the student might slip information about the cognitive ‘verse. During the long moment of silence while Akira just watched Shirogeki, the student finally looked back at Akira with confusion.

 

“What is it?”

Akira smirked. He dropped the bomb on the younger man, “Cute.”

 

Akira turned his attention back to the shelves, ignoring the sputtering man who promptly stopped working after his comment. He pulled out a journal labelled from 2014-2015 and flipped to a random page. It was a log of how work was proceeding, but nothing about the Tenori project, the cognitive ‘verse, or Isshiki came up so the investigator only paid half of his attention to the passage. After several moments of silence, Akira looked at Shirogeki from the corner of his eyes.

 

The student was distractedly watching something on the computer screen on the desk, fingers anxiously tapping on the wooden surface. He didn’t seem entirely focused on the screen: his gaze followed Akira’s every movement every few moments, eyes trailing to the investigator’s legs.

 

Akira stilled his face, though he felt his amusement grow at having made the younger man uncomfortable. Despite the man’s blatant edginess about Akira’s presence, Shirogeki’s eyes weren’t quite so suspicious as curious now. In contrast to his flustered response, he didn’t seem antagonized by Akira’s comments.

 

The investigator snapped the journal shut, now wondering if he was perhaps going too far with this. He reasoned, _Well, I still need to get information, don’t I? If Shirogeki does become partial to me, maybe his defenses will come down a bit more. It’s not like I’m leading him on._

 

Akira spoke, “What was going on earlier, Shirogeki-san? I heard an argument from the other side of the door before that shelf collapsed on top of you.”

 

Shirogeki flinched as though was had been burned, not expecting the sudden question. He coughed to cover up his startled response and replied in an even voice, “I was talking to that guy Zuni and I have been tutoring over speaker phone—Wiz, that’s his name. I was getting a bit impatient with him when I was trying to move the shelf to get at the outlet behind it but then it sorta just backfired on me and you came in right afterwards. I guess the kid just hung up thinking I died or something.”

 

The irritation on Shirogeki’s face suggested that he wasn’t completely lying. Perhaps Shirogeki wasn’t on good terms with that smug, gold-eyed whatever-that-boy-or-man-was?

 

“Wiz,” Akira hummed, “Is that short for Help Wizard?”

 

A multitude of emotions flashed across Shirogeki’s face, and Akira was certain one of them was ‘oh, fuck.’ Shirogeki stilled his expression into a serious one and said, “Yeah. Wiz rolls a wizard character on the MMORPG I play sometimes—Aeternal Legends Online. You know, the one that came out last year. We play on the same server and his character name is Help Wizard, so we just call him Wiz.”

 

Akira stared at Shirogeki. That was one of the most well-put-together lies he has seen yet in his career as a profiler. “...I see.”

 

The two met each other’s gazes evenly before Akira finally looked away back at the shelves. Maybe next time he’ll be able to pull something more from Shirogeki; the student by now had already thrown up the walls again. Akira had lost his chance today.

 

“Is your search going along fine?” Shirogeki asked after a moment of silence.

 

The investigator paused. _Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to be honest, would it?_ “This early on in the investigation, it’s difficult to tell. With the help of some of the witnesses, we have gained more leads.”

 

“Do you think they are poisonings?” the student wondered. Akira supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at the sudden bout of curiosity; Shirogeki did seem genuinely concerned about Ito during the encounter before the last.

 

Akira raised an eyebrow. “Do you think they are?”

 

He was only met with a deafening silence as Shirogeki’s eyes, looking more of an inky blue in the gray light casted on him from the window near the desk, appeared far more troubled than Akira had seen yet from the younger man. He finally replied, “It just wouldn’t make sense if they were. All of them were connected to this company in some way and there isn’t a motive, is there?”

 

“Not that we know of, no. At this point, there hasn’t been any evidence pointing to poisoning, so you’re not wrong,” Akira replied while walking over to the desk to take a seat on the cushioned chair across from Shirogeki. “I wonder thought, what do you think of the case?”

 

Shirogeki began fiddling with the cord connected to the mouse beside the keyboard sitting on the desk, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he looked guarded at Akira. “Isn’t it against policy to encourage people to speculate or something, detective?”

 

A faint smile tugged at Akira’s lips. At this point, he didn’t intend to correct the student that he wasn’t exactly a detective; he liked being equated on the same level as the gun-wielding counterpart of being a special investigator and not to mention he figured Shirogeki would be put further on edge if he knew Akira could use psychology against him if needed. He leaned his chin into his hand while propping his arm on the desk, still maintaining an air of collected mirth. “Perhaps, but this isn’t like other cases is it, Shirogeki-san?”

 

Based on the imperceptible twitch in the corner of Shirogeki’s lips, he knew immediately that the student was holding back a flinch at Akira’s words. Dodging Akira’s question, he tapped the spacebar on the keyboard as if to pause a video and fiddled with some of the keys before moving the lit monitor so both of them can see. Shirogeki, changing the subject, said, “You probably already know about this, but I thought you should see this too. You’ve heard of that PI Thorn, right?”

 

Akira blinked at the screen which revealed a video page on the news website. “You keep up with broadcasts about Thorn?”

 

Shirogeki coughed and rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks turning a faint pink. “Well, I guess you can call me a fan. I’ve been following them since I was in high school since I used to want to be a detective.”

 

“Not a profiler?” Akira couldn’t help but ask, the disappointment in his voice restrained as much as he could. Shirogeki stared at him with curiosity, as though he was wondering why the investigator asked that question specifically.

 

He replied, voice slow, “No…”

 

Akira covered himself, “Hm. You seem the type of guy, since you’re taking higher level psychology classes.”

 

Shirogeki straightened, eyes widening slightly in surprise at the fact that Akira remembered. Akira mused to himself, He might be used to fading into the background with a reaction like that… _I wonder if I’ll ever be able to learn why._

 

It took only a few seconds for the student to recollect his thoughts before he shook his head. “Well, I am interested in psychology but not for those reasons. My computer science major has a psychology focus since I’m hoping to break into the AI industry once I’ve finished my education.”

 

“It’s an interesting field,” Akira commented. “You must have a bright mind, given how you’ve been an intern at such a large company since last year.”

 

Shirogeki smiled sheepishly, “Well, it wasn’t easy. After I figured that computer science was gonna be my major, I had to bust my butt getting into uni and juggling other extracurriculars that would help.”

 

“Oh? Which ones were you in?” Good, he was already disarming the student again. Akira wouldn’t press Shirogeki again about his suspicions about the student’s relation to the cognitive ‘verse, though he hoped that he could get Shirogeki to let his guards down eventually. The investigator listened attentively as Shirogeki’s eyes brightened—still, Akira still had trouble discerning the exact shade of blue the student’s eyes naturally were—while he began recounting his school hobbies from high school and the first year of university, from computer club to robotics and even volunteering at the school counselling center as a peer specialist dealing with harassment incidents (though Shirogeki left other details about the volunteer work vague). The student looked livelier than he last saw of him, which Akira supposed was because of the mentioned blood transfusion since he didn’t see Shirogeki’s wheelchair anywhere in the room, yet there was still a fragile quality to the man’s image: in the overcast light from the window mingled with the harsh white lighting from the overhead lights, Shirogeki’s pale smooth skin shone as though it was painted on thin canvas in ink, only to look even more paper-like with his inky black hair which hung less limply than it did the previous Saturday.

 

At least the student looked rested enough to not look like he was going to collapse any second. Akira suspected that he must have erratic sleeping patterns.

 

Akira’s eyes were drawn back to the computer monitor, where the silent broadcast played with subtitles on the bottom. It looked like the interview with Thorn was still going on, and as he suspected, there was no sign of the mysterious private investigator on the screen: the reporters seemed to be talking to a TV screen in the background where an image of a minimalistic red rose covered in thorns against a back backdrop was projected for all to see. A signature of Thorn’s?

 

Seeing Akira’s interest in the broadcast, Haku wordlessly turned up the volume for him and the investigator just nodded in thanks. The two refocused their attention on the screen.

 

“Wow, it must be time intensive work for you to take on the load of all these cases, Thorn,” the reported commented with an impressed voice.

 

“ _Hm,_ ” a voice, distorted with static and a pitch changer set to probably the deepest setting possible, responded, “ _You could certainly say that, however I only spend about as much work as the police do on individual cases. Each case averages about 3 months of work, though it also depends on how much evidence I must collect._ ”

 

“How very modest of you,” the reporter chuckled, “Now that we have touched base with your most recently solved case, are there any more cases on your radar? Perhaps the mysterious comas that have been occurring in the past five weeks?”

 

Akira bit back a groan; he had hoped that the case wouldn’t be publicized this early.

 

“ _While this case has my ears perked, I’m afraid I will not investigate it any time soon unless the police explicitly requests my help; despite talk shows that make unsound claims about the case, there is very little to go off of at this point in time._ ”

 

Akira couldn’t help but agree with their assessment of the case.

 

“ _It is highly probable that this case is one of foul play and strung together by a mastermind seeking to complete an unknown cause, but given the modus operandi and the state of the victims at the time, I am inclined to think that the comas were induced via something we have not seen before… If not drug induced, then something otherworldly perhaps._ ”

 

“Otherworldly…” Akira hummed to himself, glancing at Shirogeki from the corner of his eyes. The student’s shoulders were tense while he stared at the screen with a frown, distractedly fumbling with and twisting apart and putting back together a ballpoint pen with deft fingers. Regardless of Shirogeki’s strange reaction (based on their previous encounters, the student seemed to be very critically minded so there was something off about the anxious energy that radiated from him), Akira, too, was surprised and mildly concerned about the PI’s implication that something supernatural may be at work. I’ll have to dig deeper into Thorn’s past…

 

Just as the interview came to a conclusion, Akira’s phone began vibrating from his pocket. A call.

 

“Sorry, I have to take this,” Akira apologized once he saw the caller ID revealing Tenkane Clinic, standing from his seat to move several feet away. Haku’s eyes were understanding as he nodded, still quiet.

 

A woman’s voice, the secretary’s most likely, spoke once Akira picked up the call, “Is this Investigator Kurusu I’m speaking to?”

 

“Yes,” he replied, voice wary. He had been planning on visiting the clinic tomorrow when Chou was supposed to be back, so why would her secretary be reaching out to him now?

 

“Dr. Nakamura is back a day early and she said she can talk to you preferably before 1:30, if you are able.”

 

 _12:45 PM_. It was rather a short notice, which seemed out-of-character for the composed doctor. Could there be something wrong? He finally said, “Alright. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes; I’m in the area anyways.”

 

“Okay, great! I’ll let her know. See you soon, Kurusu-san.” With that, there was a low beep as the phone hung up and Akira let the phone’s screen turn dark.

 

Haku had been eavesdropping obviously: Akira hadn’t been very quiet during the phone call. The student inquired, “You’re headed elsewhere, Kurusu-san?”

 

“Ah, yes; I need to talk to another witness about the investigation. If you don’t mind, I’ll return in the next few weeks to look at the rest of Ito’s journals.”

 

“That’s fine, you’re always welcome,” Haku smiled at Akira. That was a blatant lie: Akira could tell that the suspect was on edge around him after the incident on Saturday, but there was something sincere about the young man’s friendly expression. At least there was more hope to gain information from Haku than Zuni, considering the woman was ruthless in making sure that Akira wouldn’t get anywhere (he could still feel the soreness from the bruise on his nose if he pressed on it with his finger).

 

“Thank you, Shirogeki-san. I’ll be going now,” Akira nodded in gratitude to the student. The two bid their farewells before the investigator hurried out.

 

The rain had significantly worsened to covering the streets in a cold shower, the asphalt becoming so slick with water that it had began reflecting the headlights of passing cars and the stoplight at the end of the block. Seeing the crowd of people on the street, Akira opened his umbrella and glanced at the time on his phone; it looked like he’d be a few minutes later than expected when he would arrive at the clinic.

 

He could feel the rain fall harder on the black canvas when he finally arrived in front of the forum building. He hurried under the cover provided by the entrance situated a few meters past the gray brick walls and slid his umbrella close before pushing open the doors. The building faculty should get the air conditioning checked: he once again felt the cold blast of air that came from within.

 

The elevator ride to the fourth floor was short and once again the clinic was void of life except for the secretary typing away at the lobby’s desk. Akira’s eyes slid to the waiting area curiously. The hooded man from the first time he visited wasn’t there.

 

“Oh, hi!” Akira’s attention drew back to the secretary, who beamed at him. She said, “Dr. Nakamura’s waiting in her office; the door should be open. I’m really sorry about contacting you on such a short notice: Dr. Nakamura sounded rather urgent.”

 

“It’s no problem. Thank you,” Akira nodded with a small smile in return before walking to the corridor past the lobby’s wooden desk. Last he recalled, the doctor’s office was the third door to the right. Or, so he hoped.

 

The sound of Chou’s voice from beyond the open door affirmed his memory and he walked to the door, raising a hand to knock on the door frame. He paused when he saw Chou sitting in her chair facing the window with a frown on her face as she seemed to be talking on her cellphone.

 

Chou hummed in displeasure, tapping her fingers against the desk, “It’s only been three months since you’re back and you already got yourself in trouble?”

 

A pause.

 

“While it’s understandable given your status,” she sighed, “It has been years. Would anyone recognize you? ...Uh-huh, sure. I still have a feeling it’s because you got involved in that case with that PI when you shouldn’t have. I told you it was a bad idea…”

 

Akira stayed quiet, silently stepping to the side so Chou wouldn’t immediately see him if she turned around. Was she talking to a criminal suspect? The investigator racked his brains if he heard anything while passing by the other department floors on his coffee breaks in the past week, but he couldn’t remember anything. Then again, he hadn’t heard anything about the massive break in that white collar case on the news, so it could be because he missed it…

 

Chou’s voice was exasperated as she replied to the other person, “You should start making use of those glasses and maybe a wig too. You should also cut your hair; it’s both unprofessional if you want to get a serious job and you’ve have the same length… Fine, almost the same length, for years. I can give my friend a call for your appointment so you can lay low for awhile longer…” Another pause, but now Chou was openly irritated now. “How many times do I have to tell you, Goro? You are always welcome here. I gave you a key so you can crash at the office when you need to, didn’t I? I don’t know what happened to you in that place, but have some faith in me, okay?”

 

Akira stared intrigued at Chou’s subtle changes in expression. Her eyes had softened after a moment of listening to the other person.

 

“Just remember you’re not alone in this… Yes, we’re still going to discuss that on the 28th. Take care and have more tact next time.”

 

Akira heard her hang up the call and he waited a few moments in silence. He finally stepped into view, politely knocking on the open door to get the doctor’s attention.

 

Chou looked up at him with a tired smile. “Hello, Kurusu-san. Please, sit down.”

 

“Since I can call you informally, you can just call me Akira,” he commented as he took the seat across from her. On her desk rested a fishbowl containing a single goldfish aimlessly swimming about instead of the vase of flowers he had seen the last two times. _How… Strange._

 

“Of course, Akira-san,” Chou nodded. Seeing his puzzled expression, she added, “My father gave his fish to me when I had to take a short leave of absence to care for him in Inaba. Everything’s just been hectic because he had a stroke, which thankfully he has recuperated from in the past couple days, and I just don’t know what to do with it since my husband and I aren’t well equipped to take care of a pet.”

 

Akira raised a curious eyebrow. “I see. I’m glad to hear that your father’s okay; you seemed rather preoccupied with many things the past week.”

 

“Yes,” she nodded, “Not to mention because of my leave of absence, I’ve had to do a lot of rescheduling for the appointments with my patients. Because this week is going to be packed, the only way I could work you in was sometime today since I’m not supposed to be at work right now considering I just came back three hours ago.”

 

That explained the urgency behind that phone call. Akira replied, “I apologize for taking your time; you must need to rest after this last week.”

 

Chou waved away his concerns while shaking her head exasperatedly, “It’s fine, Akira-san. This isn’t the worst I’ve been through. What did you wish to ask me about?”

 

Akira paused. He knew what he wanted to hear from her, about her lies that led him to Nagakawa, but he doubted now was the right time to dive right in. Instead, he asked, thoughts flashing back to their previous conversation about Isshiki Wakaba, “You knew Isshiki, right? Did you happen to know anything about her research?”

 

Chou stared at him for a long moment, suspicious, before speaking carefully, “That’s a rather strange line of questioning, don’t you think, detective?”

 

“Ito Takumi, one of the comatose victims who was also a Cybusnet employee, remarked that he was concerned about her research in his journals.”

 

The doctor leaned back in her seat, letting out a shaky breath. “So, that’s what it’s about, huh? Well, I won’t lie: I did know about Wakaba’s research and we did discuss it, at least the details that were less sensitive. Ito and I were both worried about her since government research rarely was pure-intentioned, especially considering the politicians in office at the time. We both tried convincing her to quit and get a job at Cybusnet, since Sora did seem genuinely interested in her work, particularly in regards to how it might help him on his own research on AI.”

 

Akira blinked at her for several seconds, only barely keeping his jaw from hanging open in shock. He was honestly grasping at straws by starting this line of questioning; he did not expect Chou to actually be connected to the other half of his investigation. He finally replied, “So, let me get this straight: you knew Ito beyond him being one of your patients? How?”

 

“Before I started working at this clinic, I used to work at Shirokane for a good few years before quitting,” Chou replied, averting her eyes at the mention of the competing clinic. Akira could have imagined it, but he was certain that her jaw clenched for a moment before relaxing into a neutral position. She continued, “During the gap years between my work as a psychiatrist, I was hired by Sora to be a research consultant on cognition and other aspects of psychology, though I’m sure Wakaba would’ve been a better consultant since she knew much more than I did. In fact, if she had given up working for the government, then maybe Sora’s project would’ve actually turned out a success.”

 

As she spoke, Akira listened with a bated breath. _Could it be..._ “The Tenori project?”

 

Chou’s eyebrows raised. “Eh? I’m surprised you know of it. The project is public information, of course, but its popularity is far eclipsed by Cybusnet’s more recent technologies.”

 

“I spoke to an intern who told me about it,” the investigator explained. Chou hummed at his words, eyes still suspicious.

 

“Why Cybusnet? I wouldn’t have thought that it would be related to the investigation at all, especially if the comas are caused by poisonings.”

 

Akira fell silent as he pondered. _Well, as long as I don’t name specific names, there isn’t a worry about breaking confidentiality; Chou did manage to bend the rules a bit in our first meeting._ He replied, “The patients were all participants in a study conducted by Cybusnet, so it was another lead other than the one you provided.”

 

 _And lied about._ Of course, Akira wouldn’t say it to her face… Yet.

 

“Seriously?” Chou frowned, the inconspicuous wrinkles on her face deepening with the motion. “That’s… I personally doubt Cybusnet is directly related to the comas: Sora does take care in maintaining an ethical practice, even when he is only sponsoring research.”

 

“You believe it’s out of character then?”

 

“Yes; I’d almost say the idea is preposterous, but…” her voice trailed off as she pursed her lips. “It has been twelve years since I last worked with Sora. If something has changed, then I’m afraid my assessment of his character may not be as accurate.”

 

Akira nodded at her words, remembering to take out his pad of sticky notes and pen to jot down her words. He almost regretted not bringing his larger notepad. “Thank you for your insights, Chou-san.”

 

“It’s my pleasure, though,” she paused, “I have a feeling that’s not the only information you came for.”

 

His face only grew more serious at her words. “You’d be right in that assessment. I talked to Nagakawa the Sunday before last, and I came across something you hadn’t told me before. There was never a family scandal from the 90s, was there?”

 

Chou narrowed her eyes before looking to the open door. She wordlessly stood and closed it with a click, head lowering as she did so. Without turning back to face him, she said, “Technically, there was, but I’m afraid I exaggerated. I’m sure you must have figured out with your astute observation skills by now that I have a personal vendetta against Nagakawa, correct?”

 

“Ah yes, though in part it was because of how vocal Mrs. Nagakawa was about your involvement with her husband,” Akira stated, voice bland. Chou turned to face Akira, eyes like sharp steel now.

 

“It was a misunderstanding.”

 

He refrained from scoffing. “Given the intensity of her reaction, it certainly sounded like more than a misunderstanding.”

 

“It is, so I suggest you leave it be,” she snapped.

 

“The fact is that you lied to me and that is considered as obstruction of justice, which is illegal in the court of law. I can press charges if needed, and in that case I would no longer need a warrant to obtain information.”

 

The doctor let out a huff before moving to the couch seated against the wall and slumped into its cushions. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes while letting out a shaky sigh. “...Fine. I’ll tell you everything.”

 

“Thank you,” Akira’s nod was curt. He stood and made his way to sit in the armchair beside the couch. “Please start from the beginning.”

 

Chou seemed to struggle for words as she refused to meet Akira’s eyes. It almost seemed as if she was… Shameful. She spoke, her voice weak, “At one point, I was a highly regarded doctor dealing with neurology and psychiatry back in America; I made my name within the first five years including residency because I was valuable to multiple research projects and during that time I started developing an unorthodox yet effective approach to therapy—ah, you probably know that part anyways.”

 

Akira replied, voice less sharp, “Go on.”

 

“I moved to Japan when I was thirty-four, but it wasn’t hard reapplying for a license. I applied for a job at Shirokane Health since it was the best private practice in the region at the time and my application was readily accepted because of my credentials. My first year there was great: the benefits were great, the attention as a rising doctor was great, my coworkers were great. But, after my first six months working there, Nagakawa Haruka became an advisor on the board of directors.”

 

Akira’s eyebrows furrowed slightly: Chou had spat out the tycoon’s name like it was something bitter, something unexpected from a supposed “kitsune” as Nagakawa Hana had accused her of being.

 

“At first, it was playful flirting, which I didn’t mind since it was the first time someone that important had paid attention to me. Then, he began actively pursuing me, even though he was _married,_ ” Chou scowled, “But I could never let myself get involved. For one, I wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship at the time before I met Daisuke, and secondly getting involved with a married tycoon could ruin my career. Obviously, he never made that connection.

 

“And so, he started using his influence to have his way: taking me on dates, the usual, which I just played it off as just something platonic when asked by coworkers. In other words, I’d lose my career if I didn’t comply.”

 

Akira began to feel a bitter taste in his mouth. _This doesn’t sound like it’ll get any better…_

 

“He invited me and some of my coworkers to a short trip in Hokkaido, where there was a large party gathering—one of those charity balls which representatives from multiple companies around the world attend. I, of course, couldn’t pass up the opportunity because I wanted to get my name out there and get more patients referred to me. We ended up staying at the same lodging, a mansion that one of his tycoon business partners lent out for us during that week.

 

“One thing led to the next and we were...alone,” Chou’s hands clenched into fists in her lap, shaking slightly, “I was coerced into coming into his room, again with that stupid threat of telling my superiors lies to dirty my reputation and have me ‘let go,’ but my compliance didn’t make the experience any less vile. Now, the wife is blaming me instead of her damn womanizing husband for their strained marriage.”

 

She let the sound of her voice fade to silence, and Akira was at a loss for words. He watched her angry, yet ashamed eyes glare at the coffee table and her jaw clench at another wave of rage, feeling his own hand clench into a fist as he suddenly felt it hard to breath. And to think he was in the same room with such a person not long ago…

 

It didn’t seem Chou had been lying while spilling her story: her reluctance to share and her ashamed posture while describing it spoke volumes about the validity of her past.

 

Akira cleared his throat, not trusting his voice to be even, and asked, “Did you…?”

 

Chou finally met his eyes, bitter amusement in her own. “Press charges? Of course not. Nagakawa has all kinds of political and less-than-savory connections: my case would have been brushed aside by the police at one word from that bastard and he would’ve sent his henchman from the shadows to do who-knows-what to me. It wasn’t worth it.”

 

“Well, now it is,” Akira bit out, voice harsh. “Nagakawa isn’t infallible; I’m certain I can find a way to bring justice.”

 

The doctor blinked in surprise at his words before shaking her head with a defeated expression. Akira felt a hitch in his heart seeing her willing to give up so easily. She said, “Akira-san, that’s not how it works. Even if you find dirt on him, he has built up a great wall of allies that will defend him at every turn. Not to mention you’ll probably put yourself in danger as well.”

 

 _If only she knew…_ Akira thought before breaking eye contact and looking down at his hands. If what Chou was saying was true, how could he amend this? _Unless…_

 

Thorn.

 

Akira looked back to Chou with a raised eyebrow, “Who said I had to be the one directly investigating Nagakawa?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Also, for the record, Goro is a semi-common name though it's more common among older generations, if you're wondering about the phone conversation and Akira's lack of reaction. Also, wow was it draining to write about Chou's history. I based her story loosely off of what happened to an HK actress in the late 90s-early 2000s.
> 
> Next chapter: Another interlude in which we join Haku, Zuni, and Help Wizard on their adventures on the weekend.
> 
> Edit: crap I forgot to close one of the italics tags D: It's fixed now. Also, personal headcanon is that Akira is a suave flirt when he's trying to get information/favors but when he tries doing the same for legitimate purposes he's clumsy AF (like that one Tumblr textpost in which Akira slides across the table with a rose in his mouth but crashes to the ground).  
>    
> Edit #2: I was going to add a link when I first posted this chapter but it was like 2 AM and I needed sleep. So, here's this bust I made of Haku when I had a few hours to kill practicing some digital art a couple weeks ago: [Shirogeki Haku](https://umbriosis.tumblr.com/post/172920996708/i-couldnt-sleep-so-i-decided-to-practice-digital). After classes end in May, I'll get around to drawing Akira and Goro since my fingers have been itching to draw those two forever (and hopefully I can improve my painting skills then).
> 
>    
>  **CONFIDANT RANK UP**
> 
> _Nakamura Chou - The Fortune - Rank 3_
> 
> (note: Chou's social link won't be ranking up so fast after this point)


	8. Interlude II (15/03/2024)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescuing Romeo from his eternal sleep... Wait, what?

_March 15th 2024_

 

Haku grimaced when he stirred, vaguely aware of the hard surface of the desk he had rested his head on. Regardless of the faint pain that had begun to grow from the base of his neck and stretch like fingers in a vice-like grip on his head, he felt himself unable to move, feeling the exhaustion cover his form like a heavy velvet sheet. He let his eyes slide close again; maybe he’d be able to squeeze in another five minutes to rejuvenate after not being able to sleep a wink the past forty-eight hours.

 

He jerked with a hitched breath when the surface beneath his head began vibrating, loud against his ear, and his phone alarm went off simultaneously.

 

“ _Khaaaa_ …!”

 

Haku groaned as he sat up, grimacing at the pain that flared up at his head. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep in that position. Haku rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes as he yawned, letting the recorded movie clip scream for another fifteen seconds before turning it off and cutting off the line before it could finish. Once years ago Zuni had suggested the idea of using the ten minute extended clip of Captain Quirk for an alarm and surprisingly it actually worked better than most of the preset alarms on his phone.

 

Once his vision cleared and he stretched his muscles, grimacing at the popping of his joints, he finally froze, seeing a pair of bored yellow eyes staring at him from across the room. The unwelcome visitor waved at him lazily and said, “Back from the dead, sleeping beauty?”

 

Haku retorted, “I thought you called me a literal zombie yesterday. Besides, what are you doing here, you creep? How did the receptionists at the front desk even let you in?”

 

The green-haired boy—Haku still had trouble wrapping his mind around how the creature was able to change forms even in the real world—pouted at this and objected, “I’m not a creep! Zuni and I were just waiting for you so we can get going.”

 

“It’s creepy if you are watching a guy while he’s sleeping. Anyways, aren’t you guys a bit early? Where’s Zuni anyways?” Haku questioned with a eyebrows furrowed. He hadn’t slept that late, did he? He did set the alarm for half an hour, after all. The tired man turned on his phone and lo and behold—the time revealed _5:55 PM_ , and the dimming oranges and violets of the setting sun outside the window only proved how late it was getting. Much later than when he was usually expected to leave his internship. Haku thought to himself, _At least I get paid for the extra hours… I wish I got a couple hours of studying in for the exam on Monday though. Maybe I can try studying the packets in the saferooms while we rest?_

 

As Haku pondered his predicament, Help Wizard replied, “She’s grabbing some extra granola bars and water bottles from the rest area since we were running late and had to dodge the cops’ radars. You know how that suspicious guy and that lady apparently called for security to be tightened in the neighborhood, right?”

 

“Kurusu and Niijima,” the insomniac corrected. He pursed his lips in thought while he leaned his head against his hand, fingers stressfully tangling in his hair which was undoubtedly mussed up by now given all the errands he had to run that day. Haku questioned, “Are you sure that Kurusu was the same guy you saw on that train?”

 

“Of course! My memory is impeccable considering I’m not limited by human cranial processes like you,” the boy had wandered over to the desk and lightly tapped a finger against Haku’s forehead with a smug expression.

 

Haku only stared back with irritation and swatted the hand away, warning the boy, “Watch it; you’re still a meatbag in the real world and you have the body of a thirteen-year-old.”

 

“But I know how to wield a Persona better than you,” Help Wizard smirked.

 

“You can’t wield one in the real world if I just smack you right now.”

 

The boy huffed, “Rude. Next time I’ll take on my normal form and you’ll realize that you just put your own foot in your mouth.”

 

Haku snorted at the thought. He replied, “Didn’t you say that you took on this form because you wanted to be unnoticeable? You look like a drug dealer pretending to be Michael Jackson with that getup.”

 

“Hey,” the boy snapped, “The fedora’s for the aesthetic and girls like it.”

 

“If faceless chicks are your thing, I’m not gonna say a thing.”

 

The boy shook his head, “Ass. Just watch and learn; I bet your love life is nonexistent because you look like a racoon.”

 

“It’s nonexistent because I’m not interested in anyone,” Haku rolled his eyes. Before Help Wizard could reply, the door clicked open as Zuni entered with a backpack full of snacks, bottles of water, and what looked like bandages and ointment peeking out from the black mesh outer compartment.

 

“Oi, Lizard, is he awake yet?” Zuni asked, ignoring the boy’s sputtered response of “Why must you insist on calling me that?”

 

Haku replied for Help Wizard, “Yeah, I’m awake. Sorry about making you guys wait; I almost forgot that we were going to finish clearing that path through the hospital tonight. I had to stay here awhile longer since the team lead of one of the projects—that one on improving the in-game AI’s for that new Chinese game coming out next year—didn’t show up so I was called in to help finetune the programming before the deadline tonight.”

 

“Yikes,” Zuni grimaced. She walked further into the room, gently tapping her cane against the carpet until she found a chair and sat down in it. “Well, it’s great that they’re paying you, right? Paid internships are a rare find. Anyways, did you bring the weapons?”

 

Haku nodded, recalling where he had stashed the duffel bag this morning before going into the building. “I hid it behind the dumpster in the alleyway behind the building. If you guys are okay with going in from there…”

 

“It’s better than trying again at my place,” Zuni shrugged. “If Wiz is right about Kurusu being related to the Cybusworks dimension, then he would have more reason to catch us if we suspiciously disappear for a few hours in my room.” She looked in the direction she had heard Help Wizard’s voice and asked, “Do you really think Kurusu could be the one behind the comas?”

 

The boy replied, voice firm, “It’s probable: I did find him unexpectedly in the train dungeon where that teenage girl’s shadow resides. Plus after he just disappeared seconds after I saw him, the distortion has strengthened and is continuing to worsen. If my calculations are correct, her dungeon should manifest within six or seven weeks. If the perpetrator is in fact doing something by creating these dungeons like they did with Gabriel, then that leaves Kurusu as our only suspect so far.”

 

Zuni let out a soft ‘hm,’ frowning at his words. “Have you figured out who that girl is yet?”

 

He deflated at the question and shook his head, “No. I’m sure that if I had direct access to records of those living in the area then it would be easier, though a bit time-consuming since I’m not very well versed in technology—don’t laugh at me!” He glared at Zuni who chuckled at the thought. “I’m still just a shadow, you know? Just because this dimension reflects what you call the internet doesn’t mean all of its residents are tech-savvy. Anyways, Haku, maybe you can help me?”

 

Haku bit his lip. “Maybe, but I can’t make any promises that I’ll be successful. I might be good at programming but that doesn’t mean I’m good with hacking: hacking has a lot to do with servers and requires a lot of work in the terminal, which I haven’t done a lot of since computer club in high school.”

 

Zuni and Help Wizard both stared blankly at Haku.

 

“Hey, I thought your name was Help Wizard; doesn’t that imply that you know this stuff already?” Haku muttered, crossing his arms.

 

“Do I look like a paperclip icon in the terminal? No? Point,” Help Wizard sighed. “I guess we’ll just have to do this the hard way and start looking for comatose patients in the past month.”

 

“But then accessing those medical records are illegal since we’re not the police,” Zuni pointed out, eyes thoughtful as she tapped her fingers against her cane.

 

Before the discussion could degenerate into a mess, Haku interjected, “Okay, let’s not worry about this now. We need to focus on rescuing Gabriel. Wiz, can you actually explain what dungeons are?”

 

Zuni raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, now to think of it, you did kinda leave us in the dark, Lizard.”

 

Help Wizard groaned, “Please, how do I look like a reptile?”

 

“How would I know? For all I know, you could be a talking pet iguana that hangs around us.”

 

Haku snickered, “Maybe you could shapeshift into an iguana. To be more portable, you know.”

 

“Anyways,” Help Wizard was less-than-pleased by the teasing, “Dungeons are basically anywhere that is not a safespace, so anywhere beyond the center of the City. They come in two flavors: either born from the collective consciousness’s negativity or from individuals with highly distorted and possibly corrupted hearts. Of course, everyone has a dungeon of their own, but are rarely accessible by others—and by others, I mean Persona-users or shadows with an ego—unless they are corrupted. In Gabriel’s case, he has a personal dungeon born from his distorted heart within the collective dungeon which is the Hospital.”

 

Haku’s jaw hung open slightly while Zuni slowly nodded as though letting the boy’s words sink in. The pale man commented, “Well, that actually sort of makes sense when you think about Jung’s theories… How will rescuing Gabriel actually work though? If everyone has a shadow and therefore a dungeon even if they’re conscious, then what can we do to wake him up from his coma?”

 

“Nothing, if that was truly the case,” Help Wizard replied bluntly. “However, I have doubts that his case is normal nor are the other comatose victims. See, most shadows that belong to individuals in the real world rarely appear as more than ghosts in the cognitive realm, like wisps of themselves. The more corrupt an individual is, the more solid a form their shadow takes. For those who are completely solid in the cognitive realm, they must have become one with their shadow, either by becoming so disillusioned and corrupt that their conscious self sees their subconscious twisted desires as the truth or…”

 

“They are in the same condition as Gabriel, whatever that is,” Haku breathed, eyes wide. Help Wizard wordlessly nodded.

 

“Of course, there is far more to it, but that’s something we should discuss later. We still need to finish clearing the rest of the way to Gabriel’s dungeon tonight before we confront his shadow tomorrow. My idea is to somehow separate Gabriel’s consciousness from his subconscious and unconscious shadow by changing his cognition.”

 

Zuni wondered, “...And how do we do that if he technically isn’t conscious to begin with?”

 

“Talk to him, get to his subconscious beliefs and overturn them,” Help Wizard paused, letting the silence last several seconds, “Or we get him to awaken his Persona.”

 

“How do we even do that?” Haku and Zuni exclaimed.

 

A smirk. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

 

 

\--

 

It was _7:30 PM_ when Haku finally locked up Itp’s office and they quietly slipped out the back metal doors painted a dull muted blue into the dark narrow alley lit only by a row of lamps separated by several meters, casting large shadows in the area. It was almost creepy, Haku would think, if he didn’t know that gangs and criminals preferred to congregate in other wards like Shinjuku. Then again, the security camera was still in a state of disrepair so if an axe murderer came at them right that moment, no one would know what happened.

 

Haku shook the unsavory thoughts from his mind and ducked behind the dumpster to grab the duffel bag. After checking that the model guns, cosplay Han-dynasty-style sword still in its scabbard, and cosplay electrostaff that Zuni warned him to be careful with when she gave it to him for safekeeping days ago were intact, he returned to the other two with the bag in his hands. Zuni practically bounced on the balls of her feet in anticipation while Help Wizard eyed the bag curiously.

 

“You bought the guns I asked for?” Help Wizard inquired. Without another word, Haku tossed him a pair of the model guns which he caught easily and handed Zuni her staff, who gave it a quick look over with the touch of her fingers to text for any damage before nodding to Haku with a devilish smile.

 

Haku took his sheathed sword out before slinging the empty duffel bag through his arm over his shoulder. He took his phone out, unlocking the screen before swiping downwards to access the internet network menu. At the top of the menu was a single name: Cybusworks. “Ready?”

 

“Ready!”

 

Haku held his breath as he tapped on the network and let his phone connect. Just as the loading icon appeared, their surroundings distorted as though by an intense heat wave without the uncomfortable temperature and took on a green tint with the ripples. The icon changed, replaced by a green checkmark, and they were lit by flashing neon lights all around that lit the dark green sky with not a single star in sight and only a moon with deep cracks in its white surface hovering far above them.

 

Haku looked to his friends, whose appearances had changed. Zuni was no longer carrying her cane, standing tall with her staff that looked like real steel with a faint blue light glowing within the circuit-like designs running up and down its length and sparks of electricity crackling from the emitters on either end. Covering her eyes was a silver visor with black tines about four centimeters long extending from top to bottom of the silver, similar to the one worn by her favorite character from _Star Trails_ , Jorge de la Hearth. The sci-fi motifs continued in the rest of her outfit: her white mock neck catsuit paired with a black canvas belt with pouches attached, cream-colored vest with more pockets and a hood, and charcoal gray knee-length lace-up boots was reminiscent of Queen Aladima from her second favorite series _Star Battles_. When Haku had first seen her getup when she awakened her Persona a week ago, he has been so unsurprised that he just started laughing much to Zuni’s confusion.

 

Help Wizard had returned to the form that Haku had first seen him in: that fitted white business suit with the top three buttons of the white button up left open and that same fedora Haku grimaced at seeing. His green hair was yet again slicked back in that suspicious mafioso style that Haku honestly despised. If anything, Help Wizard probably looked the most suspicious out of all of them especially given how he annoying stood at least five centimeters above the top of Haku’s head.

 

...Well, maybe he was tied with Haku’s getup. The insomniac looked down at his own outfit and, sure enough, it was the same as the first time he had entered this cognitive dimension: a motorcycle jacket made of thick wool more fit for a peacoat in the shade of deep red that could either be wine or blood, classy black buttons fastened on his sleeves where his black gloved hands extended from, black fitted trousers with buckles fastened at his thighs (for what purpose, he didn’t know), and black leather combat boots laced over the the end of his trousers which were tucked in. Hook around his ears with an elastic band was his medical mask, but he was certain it was the same several shades darker than merlot the last time he saw his reflection in this dimension.

 

When he had reluctantly described to Zuni his own outfit a week ago, she had only smirked at him and said that he was the edgelord personified.

 

“Okay, we got about four hours here before the restaurants in Shibuya close. We’ll need to get a good meal and a good night’s sleep before we take on Gabriel’s shadow tomorrow afternoon,” Zuni broke the silence, reaching up to her temple to push a few buttons on the side of her visor. “It is 7:34 right now and based on the last time I mapped the dungeon, we should be done by 10:30 or 11 depending on how difficult the shadows are.”

 

Help Wizard nodded. “There’s also another way to cut down on time.” With that mysterious statement, Haku stared with wide eyes when the shadow’s tall form disappeared with a flash of light, replaced with a tiny sphere of bright green light with fluttering insect-like wings attached to it.

 

“No way… You can transform into fairy?”

 

Zuni stared in the direction of Haku’s voice with raised eyebrows. “What? Really?”

 

“I’m not a fairy! This is just a portable form so I can better act as the navigator in conjunction with Zuni’s visor ability. I just don’t want to be hindered by a humanoid body on a time crunch like this,” Help Wizard huffed.

 

Ignoring Help Wizard’s explanation, Zuni inquired, “What kind of fairy?”

 

“Like that navigator fairy from Legend of Delza,” Haku replied, still dumbfounded.

 

“Nice.”

 

“Not. A. Fairy,” the shadow gritted out. “Now, let’s get going.” He took off, flying down at the alleyway toward the open streets lit by neon lights from the surrounding skyscrapers far taller than the ones typical of Tokyo, signs such as Whoogle, Bang, and Woohoo all clustered together on the three tallest buildings in the area (which was so ironic that Haku honestly found it unsettling) gleaming down on them from above.

 

Haku had to take off at a jog to catch up with Help Wizard, lightly pulling on Zuni’s hand to alert her the direction and speed they were going. He called to the shadow, “Don’t go too fast!”

 

He could swear that he saw the fairy glare at him (he wasn’t sure how) and decided to keep quiet for the remainder of the short trek to the Hospital.

 

The trio weren’t certain about the nature of the Hospital, for the gargantuan building had no name. It was a pristine-looking place with walls painted a crisp white, yet it looked abandoned: there were no cars in the vast parking lot and no sign of life from the windows looking in. Despite the eerie calm that came from the silence as they stood outside the entrance, Haku knew it was a false sense of security.

 

Within the depths of the building many shadows lurked and that nurse he first encountered in the cognitive world was still out for his head. He still didn’t understand how they haven’t encountered her among the hordes they have cleared thus far, but on more than one occasion he had to duck and roll away from various long ranged attacks. Haku wondered if she could be the final shadow they had to fight on the last floor of the damned building, but he doubted it; she seemed weaker than what Help Wizard described to be typical of floor bosses.

 

Help Wizard disappeared into the building whilst Haku was deep in thought, calling, “Quick, this way! To the elevators!”

 

Following his trail of glimmering light, Haku and Zuni hurried in and through the ground floor void of any enemies—or friendly life, for that matter—and ducked into the nearest open elevator where the fairy waited. “Haku, mind pressing for the 11th floor?”

 

“Sure thing,” Haku replied, pressing for the button. Of all the buttons arranged on the metallic wall, all floors from the first to eleventh were lit with a white light but anything higher was unlit. As the doors slid close, he paused while he stared at the columns of buttons in surprise. The only floors left unlit were from twelve to fourteen. “Huh? We only have three more floors to clear?”

 

Zuni commented,while she fiddled with the buttons on her visor, presumably to recalibrate the sensors, “Well, each floor is pretty big. Plus we’ve got the final and the project deadline for class coming up in less than a month, not to mention you have your internship, so it’ll be awhile before we’re done. Right, Wiz?”

 

“Exactly. We have the rest of the 11th floor to clear tonight, plus Gabriel’s dungeon on this floor so at most we’ll only be able to start tackling the 12th floor and beyond next weekend,” the shadow replied. “But don’t get too ahead of yourselves; I cleared the first 7 floors myself before I met you guys.”

 

“You also wouldn’t have been able to clear the last 3 floors this quickly without us,” Haku pointed out.

 

Zuni added, “We also handled quite a bit of heavy lifting without wearing ourselves that much even though the floors supposedly get harder the higher you go.”

 

“You guys haven’t seen nothing yet,” Help Wizard huffed. If he were in his humanoid form, Haku thought he might be pouting now. “This isn’t the only dungeon I’ve been working on. There’s the Clock Tower, the Nightclub, the Factory…”

 

“Didn’t you say that you almost cleared the entirety of the Clock Tower?” Haku inquired just as the doors slid open to an endless corridor with flickering lights. He ignored the shudder that ran up his spine and stepped off the elevator with the other two in tow, now recalling what he saw in the City during what little exploration he managed in the past bustling two weeks. The Clock Tower was surprisingly the tallest building in the entirety of the City, situated in the dead center of the safe zone and surrounded by safe buildings like Whoogle and Yousphere, which were supposedly created from the collective consciousness of all the users who use said websites in the real world. The large clock at its top could only be seen from the top of surrounding skyscrapers or from the edges of the City in the dangerous zones, though there were holographic projections of the current time from ground level if anyone needed to check it (Haku wondered if anyone in particular designed such a useful contraption).

 

Despite Help Wizard’s constant reassurances that no danger comes from wandering the safe zone because there weren’t enough negative thoughts to generate enemy shadows, the Clock Tower was apparently filled with shadows even more dangerous than the ones they have encountered thus far in the Hospital. Alas, Help Wizard seemed reluctant to share much about the building, but Haku supposed there was so much more technicalities about these dungeons that it would take more than one discussion over dinner to understand everything about this cognitive ‘verse.

 

In response to Haku’s question, Help Wizard replied, “I did; I made it to the second floor from the top. It’s also probably one of the most difficult dungeons to traverse, but it also depends on the floor.”

 

As they walked through the corridor and Zuni kept her focus on her sensors, Haku wondered, “Could you take us there to visit? If you cleared the floors, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

 

The fairy’s light dimmed, wings slumping as though from disappointment. “Unfortunately, no. When I came to the entrance to the last floor, the door required five different keys and I didn’t realize I needed to acquire those first; that’s why I’ve been trying to get to the key here for the past couple months. Anyways, I tried breaking in but I was kicked out by the Clock Tower’s caretaker who revoked my key, which grants me instant access to the last floor I’ve been on since the tower’s floors actually reset periodically. If I go back and get a new key, I have to start all over from scratch—all 109 floors!”

 

Zuni gasped in horror at his words. “ _109_ —just how long did it take you?”

 

“On my own?” he snorted. “A little over a year!”

 

Haku glowered in exasperation at the shadow, commenting, “You should have told us that before we agreed to helping you. Now we can only hope that with extra hands clearing the tower would be quicker.”

 

“Hey, all I asked of you was to help me gather the keys. I already know the locations of two other ones; they’re in the Nightclub and the Blogr skyscraper. It’s just a matter of figuring out where the last two are; I have to do a bit more searching, but it’ll take awhile since there are many more locations outside the safe zone—woah, duck!”

 

The trio threw themselves to the ground, narrowly avoiding the lightning that crackled just a mere two meters above their forms. Haku looked to his right, seeing another empty corridor, and grabbed Zuni by the back of her vest and clasped his fingers around the fairy, yanking the two around the corner for some cover. He peeked around the corner, seeing a couple of faceless shadows from his angle as his heart raced from their narrow death.

 

Muffled cries came from Haku’s clenched hand as the baseball-sized fairy thrashed about, and he apologetically let go of Help Wizard with a grimace. He didn’t intend to grasp Help Wizard that hard in his panic. “Sorry!”

 

“Sorry? I nearly suffocated because of you!” the shadow snapped before the sphere of light stretched outwards and faded, leaving Help Wizard’s humanoid form in its wake with a disheveled suit and messy hair. The man glanced around the corner with a frown, “I sense a horde of shadows, but definitely Gabriel’s dungeon is at the end of the hall. I don’t think his shadow has strengthened enough to be a threat yet, but we’ll have to antagonize him if we want a chance at changing his cognition and rescuing him.”

 

“Got it,” Haku nodded. “Zuni?”

 

“I’m picking up about 15 shadows down the hall, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. A good lot of them are ice-focused, so Karna can take care of them easily. Our biggest worry is the lightning mage in the epicenter, and Wiz is weakest to that. You should be careful too.”

 

“Right, then I’ll be at the front. Wiz, you should fall back but don’t hold back.”

 

A snort. “Like I’d hold myself back after getting this far.”

 

Haku grinned from behind his mask. “Let’s go. Karna!”

 

He was the first to run out from their cover, throwing out his arm as he did so to summon his Persona. A green mist materialized in front of him, turning to ice crystals in the air. A deafening shattering sound echoed through the corridor before the enemy shadows could respond, the green crystal-like fragments disappearing as they fell to reveal a tall, tanned humanoid form donned in a cream-colored tunic and pants beneath plates of silver armor that bared muscular arms decorated in vine-like designs the color of coffee with jeweled gauntlets on either one. Bright electric blue eyes glowed from behind slits in the silver helmet that covered the entirety of the Persona’s head, flashing in fierce competition as he struck outwards with his glowing spear, slashing into one of the weaker Shadows nearest to him. Haku lunged forward while unsheathing his sword and pierced its form with the sharp blade.

 

“Manli Jun!” Zuni’s voice called out from behind, followed by the familiar sound of shattering glass. Another large figure the size of Karna flew out into the throes of battle, black and gold silken robes straight out of some imperial Chinese drama flowing with the movement as she struck the final blow to the shadow with a massive wooden placard labelled with archaic kanji from centuries past that Haku couldn’t read. The shadow dissipated and Haku was the first to attack the next shadow who was preparing to launch an ice attack. As the shadow screeched from the slash of his blade, it was interrupted by a carefully timed thwack to its head from Zuni’s electrified staff.

 

Slowly, the shadows’ numbers began to dwindle, but not without the duo incurring some injuries of their own. Help Wizard, as he agreed, stayed back and only fired his guns at shadows that were about to attack the duo from behind. Soon, after a handful of successful hits, the shadows had turned their attention to him, but Haku and Zuni had already taken down most if not all of the ice-powered shadows. A smirk glittered in his yellow eyes as he sidestepped one of their attacks and lazily gestured with his hand, speaking in his normal volume, “Gatsby.”

 

His Persona sprung forth with another cacophony of shattered glass, donned in the extravagant blues of his tuxedo with a large bow tie around his neck that stretched at least a hand’s length from either side of his neck. His face was mostly featureless, similar to the white opera mask worn by Manli Jun, but a large pair of sunglasses covered where his eyes should be. The Persona’s hand deformed, stretching and expanding like plastic, and swiped at the nearest shadows, knocking them to the ground.

 

During their moment of dazedness, Haku called out, “ _Maragi!_ ”

 

The whirlwind of flames that swept up the downed shadows left them even more weakened and they evaporated into tendrils of black smoke after a few more strikes from Zuni and Haku. Soon, the lightning mage was the last member of the shadows left, donned in strange robes more reminiscent of a fantasy RPG than typical of a hospital employee.

 

Surprisingly, it succumbed to their attacks easily after a few well-placed hits from Zuni’s staff and Haku’s sword. As it lay debilitated on the ground and made no move to defend itself, the duo paused in their attacks. Why was this shadow giving in so easily?

 

“Seriously, are you having second thoughts?” Help Wizard groaned from behind them. He cocked his gun and pointed it at the shadow.

 

The shadow raised its head, but instead of its faceless visage it looked like a young man with wide gold eyes. He choked out, “Wait! Mercy, mercy!”

 

Help Wizard stared blankly at the shadow, uncertain of what to think of the sudden change. Haku blinked at the scene, “Wait, what?”

 

“Please don’t kill me! I’m just a part of the collective consciousness; it’s nothing personal!”

 

Help Wizard scowled, “We’re not killing anybody; the second you lose all your energy you just return to the collective to be reformed again later.”

 

The man just looked even more devastated by Help Wizard’s words and began sobbing, bowing his head to the hard floor.

 

Help Wizard gaped at the scene with confusion. He sputtered, “Why are you crying? It’s not like you wouldn’t know!”

 

“Jeez, lay off the guy, will you? He’s having an existential crisis,” Zuni snapped at the shadow before she turned off her staff emitters and used it to maneuver herself closer to the crouched man. She gently rubbed at his back, speaking in calm tones, “Hey, it’s okay.”

 

Haku knelt down beside the man, ignoring Help Wizard’s cry of “You too?!”, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, we won’t kill you. We can let you go, if you want.”

 

“...Let me go?” the man murmured, staring at Haku with wide eyes that stood stark against skin a few shades lighter than Zuni’s. His mouth had hung open as though shocked by the very thought itself, letting a long moment of silence passed. He finally shook his head, eyes now perplexed as they gazed upon Haku. He hummed, “No, that doesn’t feel right. Somehow, I feel a greater purpose…”

 

A greater purpose? Haku blinked and opened his mouth to question the man’s meaning, but there was a strange ferocity in the man’s eyes that made his voice trail off as he raised a hand to grasp the one Haku had placed on his shoulder. The man smiled at him and gave a small nod, suddenly fading into a form of bright light before disappearing into wisps of mist. In his place hovered a tarot card dominated by shades of black and green with a painted skull obscured in black chiffon.

 

Haku gaped at the empty space in alarm and reached an uncertain hand to touch the card. Had the shadow died? No, he doubted it. Somehow… He could still see the image of the man in the deep recesses of his mind, smiling and mouthing a word. A name?

 

_Anubis._

 

The card faded from existence just as he touched it, but instead of going into blind panic over the prospect that he may just have killed this unfortunate shadow, a wave of cool calm settled over his shoulders.

 

Both Zuni and Help Wizard were silent; Zuni seemed confused at the disappearance of the man from beneath her fingertips and Help Wizard gawked the the scene. The shadow said, words slow, “What the hell just happened?”

 

To that, Haku had no answer. Help Wizard sighed and accepted the silence for what it’s worth, for he knew the young man barely knew anything about the cognitive world. The shadow said nothing more and gestured for him and Zuni to follow him ahead to the end of the corridor, where sunlight seeped into the dim area from a door leading into a room where Gabriel was sure to reside in.

 

Just as Help Wizard predicted, the distortion in the room had intensified since Haku had last seen it over two weeks ago: Gabriel was no longer seated in the bed, sheets rumpled as if his shadow had left only minutes ago. In place of the draped window was a balcony door with the glass sliding door ajar and letting in a cool spring breeze into the room. Although the sunlight outside was blinding, shielding the outdoors from view, Haku could imagine a garden from beyond as the scent of flowers and foliage wafted toward the trio.

 

At the other two’s hesitation to proceed, Haku stepped forward into the light while shielding his eyes from the brightness with a hand.

 

The wind was harsher on the other side, bringing in storm clouds from the east. In all directions stretched a vast grove of fruit-bearing trees on a rainbow of roses inundating the bushes, looking almost neatly kept if not for the overgrown weeds and vines that covered the blue mosaic path cutting through the grove toward a white Grecian gazebo situated in what was probably the center of the garden.

 

While a sight to see, there was not a sound of any life—only the howling wind that became progressively a bitter chill to accompany them.

 

Haku didn’t even notice Zuni and Help Wizard approach until Zuni cursed at the wind and wished that her clothing provided better protection. Help Wizard, in contrast, did not look fazed by the change in setting but observed their location with a soft hum of intrigue.

 

“This is a manifestation of his desires, right? Why does it look so… Desolate?” Haku queried the green-haired shadow.

 

Help Wizard admitted, “I’m afraid I’m not sure. Other dungeons I’ve visited were often grandiose, hyperbolically so even. I suspect that because Gabriel is currently the same as his shadow, his conscious thoughts must have left his desires in ruins like this.”

 

“Well, at least there’s still vegetative life, so that means something, doesn’t it?” Haku mused.

 

In Help Wizard’s silence, Zuni speculated, “If there’s life, then maybe he’s fighting with his own desires still. Otherwise, everything would be dead, right?”

 

“Cognitive dissonance…” Haku looked to the gazebo with thoughtful eyes, eyebrows furrowing.

 

Zuni stared blankly in Haku’s direction. “What?”

 

“It’s just the psychological term for when your beliefs, or rather cognition, clash. I remember that was the topic of the study Ito-san was conducting under Kitaya.”

 

“And when they clash, it leads to a change in cognition. In such a vulnerable state, it won’t be hard to separate Gabriel from his shadow,” Help Wizard concluded. “It’s just a matter of finding him here.”

 

Zuni nodded and began recalibrating her visor again. It took about a minute or so fiddling with it before she finally spoke again while pointing toward the gazebo, “I’m getting some energy readings over here. It’s like a shadow, but there’s something different about it.”

 

“It might be him. Let’s go!” Help Wizard brightened at her words before heading in long strides deeper into the grove. Haku and Zuni followed more slowly, careful to avoid the hazardous vines in their path.

 

The skies had darkened when the clouds began to obscure the sun from view, casting shadows on the rustic gazebo made of marble. Vines had begun to climb the railing and hang into the smooth floors within, but the lone figure didn’t care about the ruinous conditions of the place as he lay on the marble bench in the gazebo’s center, donned in a pale blue and royal blue chiton secured at his shoulder with a gold brooch. Sensing their presence, the man’s gold eyes flicked over to them with a bored expression and he sat up, lowering legs bound in leather sandals to the floor.

 

“About time you got here. You guys were making a ruckus out there,” the redhead commented.

 

Haku was the first to speak, voice questioning, “Gabriel…?”

 

“Not exactly,” the man shook his head. Seeing their baffled expressions, he elaborated, “I’m not exactly Gabriel, nor am I his shadow. I suppose you can at best call me a fragment of him: his more reasonable side, if you will.”

Haku glanced at Help Wizard, hoping the shadow would explain the strangeness of the situation. Help Wizard looked just as confused as he did; he probably has yet to encounter such a lucid “non-shadow.”

 

Help Wizard cautiously wondered, “Then where is his shadow?”

 

Before the man could respond, distant cheers could be heard. “Gabriel” pointed to someplace beyond the gazebo—if Haku squinted, he could make out the top of some grand circular structure. A stadium? “He would be one of the gladiators participating in the competition. So far so many wins, yet still so desperate in his fights…”

 

“What does that mean?” Zuni frowned. “Gabriel” only smiled mysteriously at her, but the silence did nothing to relax her.

 

Haku nodded in gratitude to the man. “Thank you, we’ll be going then.”

 

“Actually, why don’t I lead you there? The stadium may be confusing to navigate, and I can offer you the best view overlooking the battles.”

 

Seeing the dagger-like smile stretch the redhead’s lips, Haku grew uncomfortable and ignoring Help Wizard’s hesitation to accept the offer, he said with a cheerful smile, “That would be great, thanks!”

 

Despite being only a fragment, the confidence and dangerous looks “Gabriel” shot at him, Haku didn’t want to try his chances around the man. He wondered what he ever said to Gabriel in the real world to warrant such a reaction.

 

Haku hissed at Help Wizard and Zuni to follow when “Gabriel” turned on his heel to disappear into the tree near the gazebo. The two reluctantly did so, and Help Wizard matched Haku’s stride and bent down slightly to murmur into the shorter man’s ear, “I hope you know what you’re doing; those energy drinks have better not started messing with your head too.”

 

Haku turned his head to look in exasperation at the shadow, “Trust me on this, okay?”

 

“If this gets us killed, there’ll be nothing for me to trust you on any longer.”

 

“Pessimist.”

 

“Dumbass.”

 

“Fight me.”

 

“Guys, you can strangle each other later,” Zuni groaned at their antics. The two promptly shut their mouths and looked straight ahead.

 

The stadium towered over them once they arrived. The walls and columns were carved from cream-colored stone and decorated with mosaic art, this time looking less like the ceramic of the pathways in the grove: each piece looked like it was carved from glass or stone. Haku couldn’t quite tell the figures depicted on the walls, but as “Gabriel” led them through the main entrance into the corridors and staircases leading upwards, the art increased in clarity.

 

In one of the panels, what looked like Gabriel was clinging onto a wooden board in the middle of sea as a ship suffered in a terrifying inferno in the distance. Next, it looked like he was being thrown off a cliff into a pit of ravenous snakes by a pair of soldiers while an emperor donned in red and golds crowned a mousy brunet boy. Next in the row of panels, Gabriel was being stabbed in the front by a tall blond noble with a sword, a scandalous succubus hanging from the noble’s arm. In his hand grasped a golden necklace with a ring hanging from it. A token of love, perhaps?

 

Haku frowned. Just what happened to Gabriel for a dungeon of this size and detail to form?

 

They stepped out into bright sunlight, storm clouds not in sight, on a large balcony overlooking the sandy grounds of the stadium. Hundred of faceless spectators cheered around them as swords clashed below.

 

“Gabriel” looked hardly interested in the scene below, instead walking to the tree that clung to the stone floor and the railing nearby with arms of bark that pierced through the floor. The man plucked one of the overhanging fruits—a large golden apple—from the branch and bit into it with a crunch not unlike the shattering of bones, blood red juice dripping from the succulent bulb onto his bottom lip. He wiped it away with a thumb and flashed a bloody smile at Haku, “Would you like one?”

 

Haku held back a grimace, ignoring the lurch in his stomach. He replied, “No thanks; I already ate.”

 

“Too bad,” “Gabriel” hummed, “The best sort of amortentia comes from another’s life that’s been taken.”

 

Zuni shifted uncomfortably at the comment; Haku couldn’t blame her.

 

Help Wizard wandered close to the railing, leaning over to get a better look at the fight below. “That must be his shadow.”

 

When Haku looked over the railing as well, he could only stare entranced by the scene. The shadow, Gabriel, was donned in armor strapped over the brown linen tunic that reached above his knees, carrying a broadsword in his right hand and a shield strapped to his left arm. A wild ferocity glowed in his yellow eyes as he let out a battle cry, bashing his opponent with his shield. In the opponent’s moment of stun, the shadow ran him through with his sword, brutally ending the faceless man’s life. Blood soaked the sand as the crowds cheered, the body slowly crumbling to dust. Were shadows supposed to bleed?

 

Haku was honestly glad they didn’t when he, Zuni, and Help Wizard cleared the floors. Not matter, it was still an unsettling sight, though Help Wizard seemed less perturbed. Haku supposed after spending practically one’s entire life inside the internet, they would grow to become more callous to sights like these.

 

Instead of crowing in triumph, the Gabriel that stood in the arena had tense muscles and his eyes kept darting back and forth, as if he was expecting more enemies to attack any moment. It was as if he was afraid, like a caged animal in a circus.

 

Haku was about to call for Gabriel’s attention, but the man’s counterpart shouted over him in a mocking voice, “Oi! What’s with that face, Gabriel?”

 

The man below snapped, “Shut. Up.”

 

“So you can keep on fighting against the truth?” “Gabriel” scoffed. “Will you ever realize that it’s pointless? Everything you’re striving for? You of all people should know that adopted kids don’t get far in life!”

 

Haku stared wide-eyed at the scene unfolding before him. He exchanged a worried glance with Help Wizard, while Zuni clenched her staff closer to herself.

 

He continued, “We were constantly passed over for our brother. Cameron, the _oh-so-perfect_ boy. He can get straight B’s all he wants but Mom and Dad would always be proud of him. Us? Even when we climbed to top of the class, it was always, ‘Gabriel, why don’t you be more like your brother and do more?’ Cameron did jackshit, but no matter all the work we put into it, it was never enough, was it?”

 

The counterpart below murmured something, voice too low for them to hear but Haku could see the defeated expression his face twisted into.

 

“Not only were we worthless to our family, we were worthless to our friends too, don’t you remember? Because of those closeted bigots Zach and his bitch.”

 

The man below flinched, shoulders slumping.

 

“It wasn’t enough for him to lead us on and laugh in our face when we caught him with her,” “Gabriel” spat, “But they had to tell the entire town that we were never born a Quin, and that ruined our chances to Harvard. Yet, Cameron and his lackluster ass got into four of the Ivy Leagues. I hope you realize that you can’t run away from your problems by moving to Japan. Our past haunts us, and it keeps on pulling us deeper and deeper into that abyss, slowly suffocating us until we disappear—don’t you think it’s about time to stop this and go back to New Jersey? There, we can wreak havoc upon our family, ruin Cameron’s reputation, see to it that Zach never gets to experience happiness. It is vengeance we ought to seek, not some higher calling of trying to save that people who have destroyed us.”

 

In that moment, the stadium was dead silent, the remaining echoes of the man’s angered voice fading away.

 

“...You’re right,” the shadow’s shoulders shook, his quiet voice deafening in the silence. He dropped to his knees, face hidden. “They… Must be destroyed.”

 

“Gabriel” grinned, teeth glinting like a wolf’s fangs. “That’s right. Now embrace the rage and unleash it upon those who have wronged you.”

 

It was with those words that the shadow below began to scream, form writhing about on the the ground as his spine began to deform. The shadow stretched, body growing taller and red mosaic glass burst from his skin like ugly patches of scales. His arms cracked, splintering in places where red crystals grew out of and his fingers elongated into claws. He was barely recognizable when the change stopped, eyes glowing liquid gold and face marred by crystals jutting from it.

 

Help Wizard turned to glare at “Gabriel,” voice accusatory, “You’re not just a fragment, are you?”

 

A mocking chuckle came from the man’s lips. “True. I am a Shadow, the representation of his deepest desires. But, _so is he._ ”

 

With those final words, the man faded from existence, leaving no trace as though he was never there—except for the bloody, bitten apple on the ground.

 

The balcony crumbled from beneath them and sent them careening into the arena below. The sand was barely soft enough to break their fall, but the landing was still rather painful. Haku stood with a wince, rubbing at the sharp pain in his shoulder. He looked to Help Wizard with a frown, “I thought people only had one shadow?”

 

“They should, but I suppose this cognitive dissonance has literally split his shadow into two,” Help Wizard growled, checking the ammunition in his guns. “Watch out!”

 

The two barely dodged a swinging sword from the monstrous shadow. Zuni summoned Manli Jun with a flourish of black robes and the shattering of glass, managing to inflict a gash on the shadow’s weapon arm. Angered, the shadow bashed the Persona with his shield, and Zuni stumbled, holding her stomach with a grimace as if she had been punched.

 

“Zuni?!” Haku called, worried. The woman shook her head.

 

“I’m fine; I guess we feel the brunt of the attack when our Personas get hit.”

 

Haku nodded, but his mind was racing. At this rate, they wouldn’t be able to wait until tomorrow to rescue Gabriel. “Karna!”

 

Not sparing a moment longer, Help Wizard also called, “Gatsby!”

 

The battle was a long and arduous one. When they barely started taking a toll on the shadow’s health, Haku was already beginning to feel exhausted. They hadn’t been able to take a break to regain energy with the packed granola bars, had they? What would he give to have a healer on the team…

 

Karna managed to pierce the shadow’s stomach with his spear, but the shadow let out a roar and used his shield to knock him away. Haku grimaced at the pain that flared up in his side at the hit, but thankfully the shadow hadn’t attacked Karna again when he was distracted by a few bullets shot in his direction.

 

The shadow backed away with a few jumps, putting several more meters between them. The shadow snapped his fingers and a sheet of dark energy settled over his form, fading away after a few seconds. The recently inflicted wounds slowly closed, but they weren’t completely healed.

 

Haku was certain all three of them were fucked. He shouted, voice hoarse, “Guys, get over here! We need to get out of here now!”

 

There were simultaneous cries of “Got it!” and Help Wizard and Zuni ran over, dodging some of the shadow’s attacks when he jumped out at them and attempted bringing his sword upon their heads. Haku was already pulling out his phone to disconnect from the internet network, but the shadow threw his shield like a chakram at them, knocking them down. Haku’s phone flew out of his hand and landed in the sand a few meters away.

 

“Oh, fuck my life,” Haku cursed as he rolled out of the way of the shadow’s sword, the sharp blade nicking him in the side. Just as he started to stand and prepare to dart away, the shadow was too quick and bashed him with his shield. Haku stumbled, but regained his balance, hissing at the pain. A stinging cut had formed at his temple, purple bruising worsening with the blood that welled to the surface. As the shadow raised his raise to strike again, Haku unsheathed his sword once again and blocked the broadsword, gritting his teeth at the impact painfully vibrating up his arm into his bruised shoulder.

 

The shadow snarled and slid his blade away from Haku’s, flipping the hilt of the blade around so the sharp end was pointed away from Haku. He reached his arm back and punched Haku square in the jaw, the metal of the hilt making the impact far more painful. Haku stumbled back and prepared to swing his sword, but the shadow kicked him in the stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. Haku fell on his side, holding his stomach in pain. He could already feel his lip swelling from the punch, blood welling to the surface where the skin broke.

 

 _Well, that stings like hell,_ Haku winced as he wiped the blood away with the back of his hand as he struggled to stand up again. At least the endorphins from the fighting should have alleviated some of the pain, though he was sure he’d be sore by tomorrow. What did he ever do to Gabriel to warrant this kind of treatment? Zuni and Help Wizard looked mostly fine except for maybe a couple cuts and bruises. It was as if the shadow had paid special attention to him.

 

When Haku finally regained his bearings, legs spread in battle stance in case the shadow came back for him, he saw the shadow approaching Zuni, who looked utterly exhausted from all the dodging as she leaned the entirely of her weight against her staff. Her eyes from behind the visor were trained in the direction of the shadow, probably hearing his footsteps, and when he got close enough, she swung out her electrified staff to hit him in the side of his torso. The shadow howled in pain and shoved Zuni away with his shield, sending her sprawling to the ground. He started to raised his sword, hands shaking from the aftermath of her attack.

 

Manli Jun flew out at him, attacking him with ferocity with her plaque weapons, but despite the damage done, the shadow, enraged, knocked her into the wall of the arena, causing the stone to crumble away from the force. Zuni screamed at the impact.

 

Haku looked to Help Wizard, who was shooting again at the shadow to no avail. He kept on missing every shot, face contorted in pain while he held his bleeding calf with his free hand. Gatsby stood in shock, likely due to Help Wizard’s injuries.

 

Haku considered calling for Karna to unleash a fire spell upon the shadow, but Zuni was too close to be unaffected by the flames. He gritted his teeth and snapped, “Gabriel! What the fuck!”

 

The shadow turned to Haku with narrowed eyes.

 

“Do you think you’ll achieve anything by being this obsessed with vengeance?” he continued. “I won’t pretend to know everything about your family and Zach; they have obviously hurt you and they may or may not deserve to burn in hell, I don’t know.”

 

The shadow blinked, startled by Haku’s words. “What…?”

 

“You have every right to be angry, but do you remember what you told me last semester? About why you wanted to pursue a political science major?”

 

The shadow was silent, growing more confused.

 

Haku let out a breath, seeing that he now had to spell it out for the idiot. “You said that you wanted to be the best you can be, to rise above what you were born as to show you can do it. To show you can rise above the limits set by society and do what’s good for this world so no one will have to suffer again. Now I know why: you don’t want to see anyone else go through the same things you did, right?”

 

The shadow flinched, but slowly nodded, understanding beginning to dawn on his face.

 

“If you truly want to go back to America and enact revenge, you won’t be able to finish everything you’ve worked so hard for in Japan. You won’t be able to help anyone if you don’t follow through. Gabriel,” Haku’s voice cracked from exertion, but he pushed through, “You can do this. I know you can; you were so passionate about this. You _are._ It’s up to you to overcome this to finish it.”

 

The shadow’s face filled with raw emotion, tears filling in his eyes. The sword and shield clattered to the ground. “I…”

 

The shadow suddenly hissed, holding his head. He seemed to choke on air, carding fingers through his hair in pain, eyes squeezing close. A green mist distorted his form, turning to crystal in the air, and shattered with a deafening crack, falling to the ground and disappearing. In his place was Gabriel dressed in his hospital gown, looking completely and utterly exhausted.

 

Haku hurried to break the taller man’s fall when he slumped to the ground. Above them, the two saw what looked like an outline of a Persona carrying a wooden staff and dressed in light gray robes and a pair of pants, fabric belt holding the robe close and a dark brown cowl leaving its face in shadows. It faded from view.

 

Gabriel breathed, eyes a familiar shade of green, “What was that?”

 

Haku smiled, “Your Persona. I think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao, editing at 3 AM probably isn't a good idea. Sheesh, this got really long even though I was mindful of not getting so much into descriptions and ended up cutting out the last bit in which squad bids farewell to Gabriel for him to wake up in the real world. I hope this wasn't too confusing, since I wasn't kidding when I said this cognitive verse works a bit differently. It's like a cross between the TV world and the Metaverse. Also, I created a page that has a masterlist of links to stuff about the cognitive verse and character profiles [here](http://umbriosis.tumblr.com/icarus) to keep track of all the info dump.
> 
> This is the video I'm talking about: [Khaaan!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bz9Gudqtnpk)  
> This one might be more fit for a phone alarm though: [Spock's Khaaaan!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2VAD1a8fyI)
> 
> Next chapter: Gabriel miraculously wakes from his coma and the investigators make a beeline to interview him about his condition.
> 
>    
>  **CONFIDANT RANK UP**  
>  _Gabriel Quin - The Lovers - Rank 2_  
>  _Help Wizard - The Jester - Rank 2_  
>  _Nagakawa Zuni - The Justice - Rank 3_
> 
>    
>  **Manli Jun**  
>  A character in a novel written by an unnamed woman in the Ming dynasty, Manli Jun is the first female scholar-official in imperial China who got the role via hardwork and taking the imperial exam rather than being given the title. The wooden plaques she uses are inspired by the plaques scholar-officials throw out on the ground to sentence criminals to whipping, flogging, execution, etc.
> 
>  **Gatsby**  
>  Jay Gatsby is a character from _The Great Gatsby_ who comes from a humble background but becomes obsessed with his estranged love Daisy, whom he throws extravagant parties for in case she ever shows up.
> 
> Note: Gabriel's monster shadow form looks a bit like Corypheus from DA:I. I think I'll go on a DA:I binge this summer if I have the time. But, first I gotta pull myself through finals + AP week then graduation.


	9. 20/03/2024

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akira discovers something unexpectedly.

The corridor was dim, shrouded by shadows that obscured even his vision. It was deafeningly silent to his ears, only the echoes of his running footsteps and shaky breathing to accompany the cold that permeated the air and his skin and bones.

 

His long black jacket that trailed behind him did nothing to stave off the harsh temperatures; the sweat that began to coat his back in a thin layer did nothing to help as it quickly cooled.

 

_Where was he?_

 

He was searching… For someone. Whom, he did not know. His heart raced with a strange sense of urgency, an urgency he hadn’t felt for a long time.

 

A hanging lamp flickered a distance ahead, casting dapples of light on the walls and the steel bunker door standing at the end of the long corridor.

 

_That’s it!_

 

He closed the distance with few more large bounds and threw his weight against the wall where a red light blinked above a grey button, a sense of relief flooding his muscles as the button gave way under his palm. His breath hitched in anticipation as the door began to creak as it slid upwards, shedding blinding white light into the darkness. Without caution, he hurried into the blinding light, shielding his eyes with his hand.

 

The sound of crashing waves and thunder roared in his ears as his eyes adjusted to the new lighting. Thunderclouds hovered over the cliff he stood on, which overlooked a tumultuous ocean. Lightning flashed miles beyond where a single figure in white linen stood on the edge of the cliff, his black hair like ink against the white canvas of his skin. The figure didn’t look real as he slowly turned toward him with a faint smile on his deathly pale lips.

 

Lightning flashed again, eyes a vacuum of darkness looking almost like the blue of the night sky.

 

He blinked, and it was hot. Fire burned around him as the stench of smoke filled his lungs. An orange, smog-filled sky hung over them in a suffocating embrace. A large shadow obscured by the smoke hovered behind the figure.

 

The figure was donned in something else, but he could not tell beyond its dark colors. Fangs were bared in a smirk toward him. A ring of molten gold grew around his pupils and spread like spilled ink in a sea of blue, a familiar glow glinting at him through the smoke.

 

A chill ran down his spine at the scene. He blinked.

 

The cool wind from the storm brushed past him yet again. As if nothing had changed, the figure was still faintly smiling at him. A finger was raised and pressed to the figure’s lips as though to silence him, and the figure nodded to something behind him.

 

He turned. A blast of hot, humid air met him, suffocating in its force. The sight before him, however, was no less unbearable as his breath caught in his throat and his muscles seized. A single name left his lips in a breath, “Akechi…!”

 

Russet brown hair stuck to the young man’s head as he stood slumped against the locked metal bulkhead. Blood dripped from his lips as he held a hand to his chest, where the black and blue fabric had been punctured and stained with fresh blood that kept pouring from the lethal wound.

 

Just a few meters away lay the body of his mirror, donned in a familiar tan jacket and black pants, eyes staring lifeless at the ceiling as the blood from the single headshot on his forehead slowly dried.

 

The one who still stood alive, barely, slowly turned his head toward the incomer, grimacing from exertion as he did so. A bitter smile was sent his way, red-brown eyes solemnly meeting gray ones, and finally the young man slid the rest of the way to the ground with a shaky breath, leaving a trail of red on the wall he was supporting his weight with.

 

A blood soaked hand slid from his chest and fell limply at his side.

 

\--

 

_March 20th 2024_

 

Akira woke with a jolt, sucking in the cold morning air in desperation. He sat up in haste and rubbed at his eyes, pausing when his fingers touched something warm and wet on his cheeks. Tears?

 

He threw the sheets off himself with a grimace at how his shirt stuck to his sweaty form. What an inconvenience, that the memories would continue haunting him even after several months without a recurrence…

 

His eyebrow furrowed. While wisps of the dream quickly slipped through his fingers as the horrors his mind had drawn up about the cruise ship in the Metaverse dominated the forefront of his mind, there was something off. It wasn’t like the previous dreams he has had about the incident. What was it?

 

Ink-colored eyes flashed into his thoughts.

 

An overwhelming sense of familiarity rose in his chest, but Akira could not pinpoint what exactly it was. The figure in his dream wore white linen, like that apparition he witnessed beyond the window in the Velvet Room. Could it be that Igor was trying to reach out to him again?

 

Akira rubbed at his temples stressfully. _If Igor was trying to reach out to me again, why didn’t he just directly summon me to the Velvet Room? If it isn’t Igor, then that figure must be unrelated… Why does he keep reappearing?_

 

He was shaken from his thoughts when his phone began ringing from his stand. One look at the alarm clock told him it was _8:14 AM_ ; he didn’t have to be in work for a few more hours. Perhaps it was news from Makoto?

 

He picked up the phone after checking the ID—sure enough, it was Makoto—and answered in a groggy voice, “Morning.”

 

“I hope I didn’t disturb you from your sleep. It looks like we’ll be heading for work a little earlier today.”

 

“No, I just woke up a few minutes ago anyways. What’s going on?” Akira raised an eyebrow.

 

Makoto let out a breath, but it didn’t seem she was disheartened. “We got a call back from Gabriel Quin’s family. They agreed to let us talk to him, but for 30 minutes at most.”

 

Akira blinked in surprise. Gabriel Quin, the fifth patient and participant in the study to have fallen into a coma, had miraculously awoken just three days ago on Sunday. Soon after getting news of the sudden recovery, Akira and Makoto made a call requesting an interview, but the Quin family adamantly denied them any access to Gabriel’s room. He questioned incredulously, “Really? So soon?”

 

“Yeah, I thought it was odd too. But, according to the nurse that just called me, Gabriel insisted that he wants to talk to us and his family had no choice but to concede.”

 

“Interesting…” Akira hummed. “What time is the interview scheduled for?”

 

“10:30 today.”

 

The suddenness of the interview schedule was off putting, yet it wasn’t something to complain about. If Gabriel had important information to share, then the urgency wasn’t surprising. If he held more information about Cybusnet’s study…

 

Akira shook his head. Now was not the time to be too eager. He finally replied, “I’ll be there.”

 

“Alright. See you there.”

 

Once the call ended, Akira let out a breath and ran his fingers through his messy hair. He glanced back at the clock, noting to himself that he had about two hours until the interview. _Should be enough time to run some errands…_

 

Morgana was staying at Ann’s apartment upstairs for the time being, so he didn’t have to worry about cooking breakfast. He was also out of food in the fridge again. If Makoto knew about his forgetful habits, he was sure that she would be dragging him off (forcefully) to fix his fridge supply.

 

Akira stood and stretched his back, figuring that he might as well head out for the day.

 

Unfortunately, when he took the usual alley shortcut to the train station, a blue door had unexpectedly swung open with extreme force into his face.

 

\--

 

The faint piano in the background did nothing to ease Akira’s pure annoyance with the white-haired nurse sitting across from him, as the poor profiler cradled a towel-covered ice pack to his (again) bruised nose.

 

Alexander looked remarkably unapologetic as he barely glanced at Akira from behind his gold rimmed glasses, pouring tea into two mugs for himself and Akira. The cup was set in front of him, a delicate flowery yet spicy aroma wafting up to his nose.

 

Akira set the ice pack down with a grimace and grasped the mug’s handle to lift the mug to his lips for a sip. He breathed in the scent as the taste invaded his sense. Sweet, yet vaguely tastes like bitter leaves taken straight from the park trees and a tinge of a plain sad life of the accountant that probably sat under it. He scrunched his nose and set the mug down. There was a reason why he preferred coffee.

 

He quietly observed his surroundings for a short moment. For certain, this manifestation of the Velvet Room was far more comfortable than the cell he frequently wakes in: the room, looking like a doctor’s office (of the psychiatrist kind), was somewhat sparse yet cozy with blue velvet walls, curtains, floor, and plush chairs. Akira could not tell if it was night or day in the Velvet Room.

 

“Kurusu-san, I apologize for our unexpected encounter. I sensed that you were passing in front of the Velvet Room and I only wished to catch you in time for a discussion,” Alexander finally spoke after he took a long sip from his mug.

 

Akira replied, voice bland, “You certainly did.”

 

The nurse raised a cold eyebrow at Akira’s veiled joke but said nothing. Akira supposed the man didn’t have much of a sense of humor.

 

Clearing his throat, Alexander continued, “I’m sure you have been experiencing strange phenomenons during your investigation into the comas. Perhaps, deja vus or a general sense of familiarity with people you have never met before?”

 

“How did you know?” Akira straightened, eyebrows shooting up.

 

A sigh. “It’s… A very complicated story. I don’t believe Igor can explain much better; I seem to be the only one who has any knowledge on the topic.”

 

Akira frowned. Just what was the nurse getting at?

 

“In summary, this life has already repeated itself once. It could have been more, however, I only have memories of this past repetition, however vague they are,” Alexander began. He reached over to the wooden desk to retrieve an old leather book and he set it on his lap, carefully flipping it open to delicate, yellowed pages. From Akira’s angle, he could see a set of black and silver tarot cards tucked between the pages, worn and oddly burnt.

 

“This is a remnant from the previous timeline, but I do not know how exactly this record was transported here. I just woke up in the Velvet Room from a vivid dream that seemed too real with this in one of my drawers,” Alexander explained, staring down at the book as he carefully thumbed through the pages. “This is precisely why it was urgent for Igor to call you to the Velvet Room so suddenly to sign a new contract. Here, a progression of too many mistakes led up to a tragedy: a Wildcard was swallowed by his own and another’s venomous inferno, driving him to a point of no return. The truly worst ending was narrowly avoided, but at a terrible cost of his life.”

 

How… Cryptic.

 

Akira commented, “That doesn’t clear things up very much, except that it makes more sense what Igor meant by ‘deterring’ tragedy. Do you remember anything more about this past life?”

 

Alexander paused for a long moment, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m afraid not except for the bare minimum. See, that vivid ‘dream’ faded away rather quickly, but what I can tell you is that it is most definitely related to the ties between the Tower and the Hanged Man. Here,” he gingerly took two cards and set them face up on the desk. Akira stretched to examine them more closely. Although burnt and the image faded, Akira could make out the imagery of a falling man with melted wings on one card and a bleeding man chained and shackled upside down on the other.

 

Akira squinted his eyes, and the images blurred. Feeling a wave of dizziness and a lurch in his stomach, the cards seemed to shift.

 

A smirking trickster god dodging lightning bolts that struck down from the stormy skies. A mysterious cloaked man carrying an orb of fire in his palm in an ancient, unexplored forest.

 

Akira shook his head, letting his hand come to his temple to rub the mild headache that came with the sensation away. “What the hell was that?”

 

“Sometimes, Arcana wielders may experience development overtime that would grant them two Arcana. The Tower is the Fool, the Hanged Man is the Magician. We have identified the Fool, however the Magician is still an unknown entity.”

 

Oh great, not only did Akira have to hunt down the Wildcard, but he had to hunt down the Magician too? Just how was he supposed to do that?

 

Seeing the exhaustion that likely drained Akira of any color, Alexander added, “Discovering the Magician is still long ways ahead and it is not your duty to find him. Once you connect to the Wildcard, you will be able to move the next step forward to preventing this tragedy. However, there is a more urgent issue I wish to discuss.

 

“This record lists the chronology of the Wildcard’s development and his connections to different Arcana. However, there is one Arcana he never established a connection with: Death. Yet, in the new record, the very first persona he develops with another Arcana is that very one. I’m afraid there must be other factors involved in changing this timeline other than you, Kurusu-san.”

 

Akira could feel his head beginning to hurt already. “...I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll keep an eye out for any oddities.”

 

The nurse nodded in gratitude, “Thank you. This is all I wished to discuss today; I’ll reach out to your about any further concerns.” He stood from his seat, about to direct Akira out.

 

“Can you at least give me pointers on finding the Wildcard?” Akira asked hopefully. “Do I have an ability like Arisato to detect other Wildcards?”

 

Alexander stared at Akira without emotion and drawled, “He’s been in front of you. You should be able to sense him by now.”

 

“But how does this sensing ability work?”

 

“...You...Just… You know what, forget it,” Alexander muttered, shaking his head and pinching his nose, “If it’s not working, then something’s wrong with you and it’s not my job nor do I have the time to fix it. Find him through whatever you have been doing this whole time, now I have other duties to attend to.”

 

Akira felt a bead of sweat form at his temple. For a Velvet Room attendant, Alexander might be comparable to Caroline in rudeness. He tried, “Then how can I figure out how to use the ability?”

 

“Focus within. Now, out.”

 

When Akira found himself back in the alley, he could not help but feel sympathy for the Wildcard who had this attendant.

 

\--

 

The day was bright and uncloudy when Akira stood in front of the hospital. _10:25 AM_ , his phone read. Still, there was no sign of Makoto.

 

Letting out a breath, he reached out to pull the glass doors open. Seconds before his fingers grazed the cool metal handle, the door was already swing outward.

 

“Ah, Akira! It’s a pleasure seeing you here!”

 

Silver eyes glimmered in content as Chou smiled at him. The woman was donned in casual clothes; presumably she wasn’t in her office for the day.

 

“Good morning, Chou. What brings you here?” Akira greeted.

 

“Just checking in with a friend. I heard Gabriel finally woke from his coma. Are you here to see him?”

 

He nodded, “Ah, yes. We managed to get an interview with him earlier today.”

 

Chou let out a breath of relief. “It’s good to see progress being made on your case. I’m actually scheduled for an appointment with one of my clients today, who may have information on what’s going on. If you’d like, you can stop by the office in the afternoon today and I can tell you what I learn.”

 

Startled, Akira stared at her. “You met a witness? Who are they?”

 

Chou looked away, now flustered. She coughed, “Well, they told me specifically that they want to remain anonymous. I’m not sure if you would be able to use this information in court when the time comes that you find the mind behind the comas, but…”

 

“It’s better than nothing. Did the witness express any interest in eventually sharing their identity?”

 

She shook her head with a soft sigh, “Unfortunately, not yet. I’ll do my best to convince them, but in the end I won’t be able to force them.”

 

“Of course not. Thank you for your help, Chou,” Akira bowed slightly in gratitude.

 

Chou smiled, “It’s not a problem at all. I’ll see you soon.”

 

With a wave, she departed from the hospital entrance. Akira watched her form disappear into the parking lot, his eyes thoughtful. It was a relief to be able to receive help from a doctor with many connections for once, however doubts still nestled themselves within the depths of Akira’s thoughts.

 

Question was, how did she find this witness?

 

It was true that she indubitably had a vast network of connections, old and new, including the likes of Isshiki Wakaba and literally every suspect in their investigation, however he couldn't help the skepticism.

 

The air inside the hospital was sterile, not unlike the smell of the crime investigation lab in the basement of TMPD.

 

“Just about time, Akira. You ready for this?” Makoto had been standing in the lobby near the elevators, waving at him to get his attention.

 

“Of course. Let’s hope we can get something substantial from Gabriel.”

 

The room was _#506_ , a relatively short elevator trip despite the traffic inside the building. The hall was faintly quiet except for the soft, indiscernible chatter among nurses and visitors. Sunlight cast its yellow-white rays through the windows, however as bright as it was, there was still something unsettling that churned within Akira’s gut.

 

The duo walked down the hall, their footsteps loud against the hard linoleum flooring. A small group of nurses, speaking in hushed voices, stood near the window as they passed by.

 

The sound of laughter. One of them looked up, curious to observe the passersby, however when Akira expected polite eye contact, none came.

 

A sheet of smooth white replaced the nurse’s face, gleaming with a waxy texture in sinister green sunlight.

 

Akira blinked, and the nurse, a young woman, smiled politely at with with brown eyes. He nodded in return, and looked back ahead with a frown.

 

It was about time he needed more, if not better medication if he was starting to see unfamiliar hallucinations.

 

When Makoto knocked on the door to _#506_ to announce their presence, three visitors were standing around the bed, where a young man with glasses and limp blond hair lay with tired eyes. The woman, a redhead who stood nearest with the young man’s hand in hers, seemed to be sharing tearful words with him while smiling, meanwhile a tall man with graying blond hair and a brunet, younger than the patient and with blue eyes instead of green, stood on the other side of the bed.

 

The knock drew everyone’s attention to the door, and varying degrees of guardedness formed within green and blue eyes.

 

“Gabriel, if they do anything…” the brunet spoke loudly in English, glaring at Makoto and Akira. The patient, Gabriel, just smiled and shook his head.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Cameron. I’ll see you, Mom, and Dad later.”

 

The woman let out a breath and nodded, “Alright, sweetie. Do you need me to bring back any orange juice or snacks when we come back?”

 

“No, thanks.”

 

The Quin family filed out of the room, and the two investigators stepped in. Gabriel smiled at the two, greeting them quietly as he switched from English back to Japanese.

 

“I apologize, we must have stepped in at the wrong time,” Makoto said.

 

“No, no, it’s fine. I wanted to help your investigation, anyways. I heard you were investigating about the comas? I wasn’t the only one?”

 

“I’m afraid not,” she sighed, “There are five others who fell into comatose similar to your case. Each of their cases were inexplicable, except for a possible poisoning.”

 

Gabriel’s face was solemn as he listened. Otherwise, the young man didn’t betray any other emotion. Akira remained silent as he observed the man.

 

“We heard that you were participating in a study by a team of researchers working for Cybusnet.”

 

Gabriel frowned, puzzled. He wondered, “Is the study related somehow?”

 

“We suspect that it is a possibility that Cybusnet is involved because the other victims were also participants in the study. If you could tell us as much as you are comfortable with, then it would be helpful in getting to the bottom of this.”

 

The blond hummed, looking downwards as he scratched his chin in thought, “Well, it’s hard to say anything since most of the study was just me updating Dr. Ito about my daily life. I was going through a lot of issues lately, so I figured joining the study was a more engaging way to blow off steam than journal writing.

 

“Every week, I would come in for an interview to talk about how I experience cognitive dissonance. And once, a week or so before I fell into the coma, they used an fMRI scan on me while asking me to think of the same emotions and the same thoughts I was having during the worse of the dissonance. There wasn’t really anything unethical, I don’t think, especially since they made sure to offer some therapy if anything got too bad.”

 

Akira wondered, “Is it possible if we could look at your files from the research? Because of the confidentiality, we weren’t able to obtain any more information of the study.”

 

“Oh, of course,” Gabriel blinked, surprised, “I’ll give them to call about it as soon as I can.”

 

“Thank you,” Akira nodded, “Quin-san, were you on any medication before you fell into the coma?”

 

There was hesitation in Gabriel’s verdant eyes, as though he was ashamed. Before Akira could withdraw the question, he replied, “I was on antidepressants—the new kind that was supposed to treat anxiety and depression. Prescribed by Dr. Nakamura Chou at Tenkane Clinic, but I am certain that the Laxidae wasn’t the culprit.”

 

Akira raised an eyebrow, “How are you sure of that?”

 

Gabriel paused, meeting Akira’s eyes. His eyes were narrowed, almost suspicious of Akira.

 

It was a fairly innocent question. What could Gabriel possibly be thinking? Unless…

 

Akira narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t so improbable that Gabriel could be involved with Shirogeki, Nagakawa Zuni, and “Wiz,” especially considering the conversation he had eavesdropped on little over a week ago:

 

_“...look, Help Wizard, the fact is that Gabriel’s stuck in that place…”_

 

The silence, as short as it was, was deafening. Akira was certain that he could cut the tension in the air with a steak knife—and one tough, days-old steak the tension was.

 

Gabriel’s voice was soft yet firm when he spoke, careful, “Call it… Intuition. I wouldn’t discredit that one theory about the culprit using otherworldly tactics.”

 

Akira and Makoto shot each other a sharp look. Akira sucked in a breath, and started, “Quin-san… Do you know anything about Pers—”

 

“Gabriel! Hey!”

 

The door slammed open from excessive force, from a short form standing in the doorway. Yellow eyes met Akira’s, widening as the interrupter froze.

 

There was silence once again, however far more awkward than it was before.

 

A cough. The green-haired boy looked away, “Eh-heh, Kurusu-san, Niijima-san… I-It’s a pleasure seeing you here.”

 

“Eh, Kurusu-san and Niijima-san are here?” Haku and Zuni slid in from behind Wiz, both sending daggers into the room with their suspicious gazes: Zuni, glaring somewhere off to the left, Haku, narrowed eyes meeting theirs.

 

It was clear they weren’t getting any more information at this point.

 

Makoto coughed, “Well, we were just leaving. I’m sorry we can’t stay to catch up with you, but we have other duties to get to. Right, Akira?”

 

“...Right.”

 

When the door shut behind them and they were a good distance from the room, Akira groaned, “That didn’t go well.”

 

“We have to be faster next time,” Makoto hummed, “But one thing for sure is that those kids must be the new Persona users. Quin walked right into that one.”

 

He nodded, “True. He didn’t seem to be on the same page as the others, given how adamant they are about avoiding us. Perhaps he just awakened his Persona?”

 

“That is a possibility… But how could he have awakened his Persona between the day he woke up and now?”

 

“Unless he somehow awakened it during his coma, but that doesn’t make much sense,” Akira sighed.

 

“Hm,” she agreed. She continued, “Anyhow, this lead with the Metaverse won’t be going anymore for awhile since they will be especially careful, that’s for sure. Quin does seem to be convinced that the comas are related to the Metaverse. Question is, how?”

 

“If the two cases are linked that closely, that’s a worse situation on our hands,” he commented, eyebrows furrowed.

 

Makoto paused in her step, falling behind. Akira raised an eyebrow as he turned to face her, “What?”

 

Her expression was horrified. She replied, quiet, “What if the culprit is using a similar strategy as Akechi did?”

 

Akira frowned now.

 

It couldn’t be possible, could it?

 

He said, uncertain, “What Black Mask did was to kill targets for Shido’s purpose. Why would someone knock the victims into comas?”

 

She shook her head, face relaxing. “You’re right, Akira. I just panicked. There isn’t any reason a Persona-user would be targeting these victims, at least not until we’ve gathered more information.”

 

Akira smiled, “Luckily, Chou found someone who can tell us more information.”

 

“ _Who_?”

 

“Unfortunately, she said that the witness isn’t prepared to speak to us directly, which I know won’t be solid evidence yet. She will share what the witness tells her, but eventually the witness plans to reveal themselves fully to us.”

 

A sigh. “Well, I hope this is good. We have too many leads at this point. When?”

 

“This afternoon, doesn’t matter what time.”

 

Makoto nodded, eyes sharp. “Let’s call for Arisato to join us; he would be interested.”

 

\--

 

“So, these new Persona-users—they are university students?” Minato wondered as the trio walked down the street to the forum in Minato-ku.

 

“Sure are,” Akira replied, “They are suspicious of us, so it’s been difficult to get any more information from them.”

 

Minato hummed, “At this point, they know quite a bit more about this new cognitive ‘verse, especially that person, Help Wizard. He isn’t human.”

 

Makoto commented, “That’s a given. What kind of creature can change forms? Akira, you said that when you first saw him in the new Metaverse, he was a man in a suit?”

 

“Yeah. Looked kind of like some information broker working for the yakuza.”

 

“A shadow, perhaps?” Minato suggested. “You haven’t met the rest of the SICU yet, but we have a few members that aren’t quite… Human.”

 

“Huh?” Makoto blinked. “There are others like Morgana?”

 

“The cat? Yes. Though, I find it curious that he can’t change forms. Guess it’s just a quirk of the cognitive ‘verse.”

 

The office was empty when they entered the forum, air conditioning at full blast, and took the elevator up, the sound of trickling water from the indoor rock fountain that stood in the sitting area only to accompany the silence. There was the clicking sound of keys behind the front desk. When they stepped further into the office, door clicking shut behind them, the secretary looked up in surprise before glancing at the clock on the wall.

 

 _1:45 PM_.

 

“Ah, Dr. Nakamura will be with you in a moment. She’s still with a client on their appointment, sorry.”

 

Akira shook his head with a smile, “Not a problem. We can wait…”

 

His voice trailed off when the door to Chou’s office swung open, the blonde chuckling at the remnant of a conversation behind the previously closed door.

 

Chou spoke, eyes warm as she stared into the room, “Glad to hear the improvements you’ve made. And thank you so much for baring with my questions; I just wanted to see that case get solved sooner.”

 

A familiar voice replied, soft yet deeper than he remembered, “I want to see the case get solved as soon as possible too, Nakamura-san. I hope everything I told you wasn’t too mind-boggling.”

 

“Trust me, I’m not surprised after everything with Wakaba a few years back,” Chou rolled her eyes before glaring at her client, “And, again, Goro, it’s Chou. You make me sound like I’m old.”

 

The brunet, who had stepped out, only stared at her with an exasperated deadpan, hands in the pockets of his black sweatshirt.

 

Akira could barely register the thud of his briefcase after it slipped from his fingers. Everything seemed dull to the senses, sound like it was travelling through water.

 

Both Chou and the client looked to him with surprise after hearing the thud.

 

Red-brown eyes gleamed in shock as they gazed at him, almost glowing in the warm lighting of the office.

 

“...Akechi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am alive, seriously. Hopefully the next few chapters will come out faster than this one.
> 
> Akira hasn't established a confidant with Alexander quite yet, but the asshole nurse is the High Priestess arcana.
> 
> hhhhhhhhhhh my boy is in Smash holy crap  
> Now I'm just maining Dark Pit until Joker comes out on the DLC ;.; At least I can have fun with air-comboing my enemies repeatedly


	10. Interlude III (???)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into what happened to Akechi.

A single gunshot to the chest was all it took, his blood splattering red on the floor. He could only breathe heavily, desperately staunching the injury where red bloomed forth and soaked into the dark fabric of his clothes. The blood rushed in his ears, deafening in comparison to the hum of the cruise ship’s engines.

 

It felt surreal.

 

His twin lay dead upon the floor several meters away, yet this victory felt empty. The sharp pain from the gunshot faded as quickly as it came, the feeling of ice settling in his chest. His breath shook, black spots forming in his vision.

 

He let himself slide to the floor, using the wall behind him to keep himself from collapsing without grace. _Was this it?_

 

He breathed, but it felt like every bit of air he sucked in stung. He couldn’t breathe in deep enough without it hurting even more.

 

He let his eyes slide close, letting the darkness overtake his vision. Everything seemed too bright anyways. The hum of the engines was a constant white noise, but if he focused hard enough, maybe he could hear beyond the locked bulkhead.

 

It was silent.

 

He smiled, his lips tired. Maybe finally he can enact vengeance on his father, even if it’s indirectly. He finally hung his head, exhaustion seeping into his limbs

 

The ice melted away and the hum disappeared, leaving deathly silence in its wake. The humid, stifling air became cool and crisp. He jolted, as though he was abruptly awoken from a dream, and his eyes snapped open only to be met with a night sky that stretched to the horizon in all directions, the solid ground he sat on invisible to the eye.

 

With a protest from his sore muscles, he pushed himself up so he was standing. Frowning, he grasped at his chest, the once-sticky warmth completely gone. Instead, his fingers met a rough fabric, dry to the touch. His tan jacket?

 

He squinted in the darkness, looking at his hands, which were illuminated by some unknown light source. He craned neck to look above, but only distant stars stared down back at him. There was not even a moon, no building in sight.

 

He turned, worry sinking in his gut. Still, he found nothing.

 

_ Is this the afterlife? _ he mused, beginning to walk in a direction. At this point, it didn’t matter to Goro; his job was done. He rarely contemplated if there was truly an afterlife, nor what it would be like if he ever stepped there. Death, after all, was something he rather preferred to avoid, until entering his father’s palace.

 

Running footsteps interrupted the silence, approaching from behind. Before Goro could spin to confront the new entity, air brushed past him as a young man in an unfamiliar school uniform hurried past him without another glance, katana at hand.

 

Startled at another’s presence, Goro called out to the man, “Hey, wait!”

 

The young man, taller than him, turned his head, gray eyes wide beneath a bowl cut of hair the same shade of his eyes as they met his own. He opened his mouth, step faltering, but suddenly his image flickered, disappearing altogether.

 

Goro blinked, speechless, at where the man had just been. _What was that?_

 

He shook his head, turning around. Maybe he could figure out where the unfamiliar man came from.

 

A head of blue hair stared up at him with puzzled eyes the color of the sea during midday, a pair of headphones hung loosely around his neck above the collar of his rumpled school uniform, as if he had just woken from a nap.

 

Lips hung slightly open in shock, the blue haired youth said only four words, voice however bland yet astonished all the same.

 

“What the actual fuck.”

 

\--

 

It all felt like a dream. The concept of spatiality seemed everchanging in this endless night landscape, and the concept of time ceased to exist. It was boring, hardly anything like the paradise after death people believed in.

 

Unlike the teenager who went gray early, Arisato was the only other solid being in this plane of existence. Even then, after their first, unexpected meeting in the dark expanse, Goro hardly saw him around—not that he actually knew how frequently he sees the shorter man, given it could have been days or even months between each run-in.

 

At first, Goro could guess how much time has passed, however the phone in his pocket felt like lead in his pocket. Every now and then, he would turn on his phone to look at the time. Everytime, it still read the same  _ 12:00 AM, December 12th, 2016 _ .

 

His phone never drained beyond the 92% leftover from when he entered Shido’s palace.

 

Internet didn’t exist, yet when he opened the browser, it connected fine. However, he didn’t find any new pages or sites published after December 12th, 2016. It was as if time had frozen, but it wasn’t unexpected. How could a ghost stay connected to the world?

 

And so, Goro spent much of his time wandering aimlessly, occasionally scrolling through what had been left in his phone browser’s cache. It was a mindless routine, searching for anything in this dark expanse and sitting down when he got too tired. Hunger didn’t exist. Thirst didn’t either. He suspected he didn’t need sleep either, but he hasn’t felt the usual late night exhaustion sink in even after so many hours. Or, has it been days?

 

His head hurt just trying to think, trying to remember how much time has passed. Goro groaned, sitting down after what could’ve been a straight thirty minutes of walking, and rubbed at his eyes. What was he even doing here, trying to find an answer to a question he didn’t even know?

 

When he stood up again, a bridge that led across a wide river appeared at his feet, the ground covered in asphalt. It was dead, not a car in site, however lights glowed from beyond the gates on the other side of the bridge, where multiple buildings stood. A school campus.

 

Goro turned, finding that his surroundings had changed in all directions since he sat down. He stared into the distance, thoughtful as his eyes caught the gleam of the ocean beyond the surrounding town. Vaguely, he remembered reading about Tatsumi Port Island back before he started his work as a detective under Shido’s thumb, where a mysterious case was mentioned in the local news. His eyebrows furrowed, any other memory of the news articles slipping away.

 

He found himself walking forward, crossing the bridge and passing the gates that had been left ajar. There was no sign of life except for the lights inside the campus buildings. As he walked, he was drawn toward a building deep within the campus, the lights off except for windows attached to halls and some unknown rooms.

 

_ Iwatodai Dormitory _ , a single placard hung above the double doors read in romaji. The door didn’t creak when he pulled it open and stepped into a lit hallway.

 

In every room he passed, there was no one. There was no sound, yet he could feel air conditioning from the air ducts above.

 

Goro didn’t know where he was going, but something tugged at his gut to go forward toward the staircase. The trip to the second floor was short, but he found himself pausing at the single doorway that met him in front of the stairwell. Quiet footsteps sounded behind him, and with a turn of his head, he caught the sight of long red hair disappearing up the stairs to the floor above.

 

He wondered if she was like the other youth with a katana he came across earlier. Deciding against chasing after what may just be an afterimage, he pushed the door open, entering a carpeted lounge area washed in warm overhead lights. It was only the second floor, but through the large windows he could still see the gleam of the sea.

 

“Hey,” a voice he hadn’t heard in what must be days greeted from the sofa, hand raised in a lazy wave.

 

“Arisato-san,” Goro nodded to the shorter boy. He walked forward and sat down on the other side of the sofa, glancing out the window as he did so. The town was quiet and dark beyond the school gates. As relaxing as it was, a chill settled in his gut at the fact that the only people here was him and Arisato.

 

Beside him, Arisato was listening to his black MP3 player, laid at his side, with one earphone plugged into his ear instead of the usual headphones Goro had seen him wear in their past encounters. Arisato offered the other earbud to Goro, which he could hear electronic music play faintly. “Want a listen?”

 

“No thanks.”

 

Arisato hummed, looking back to the window in thought. He commented, “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. It’s been only a few hours.”

 

Goro’s eyebrows raised. A few hours? “I was pretty certain it felt more like a few days than a few hours.”

 

A pause. “Well, I guess that’s another thing to know. Time doesn’t run linearly here, for either of us.”

 

“Do you know how long you’ve been here?” As soon as he said it, Goro winced. It may have come across as too insensitive.

 

Instead, Arisato tapped at his chin, eyebrows furrowed in thought. After a moment of silence, he replied, “I’m not sure. What was the date for you?”

 

“December 12th, 2016,” he said, subconsciously thumbing at his phone that had settled in his lap.

 

A sigh. “Seven years, huh.” Arisato glanced at Goro, eyes trailing down to his phone. He jabbed a finger in its direction, “What’s that?”

 

“A smartphone.”

 

Arisato blinked, fishing out his own phone from his pocket. A simple, small black phone with a keyboard that could slide out. “Do you guys even have these anymore?”

 

Goro stared, astounded, at the phone in his hand. He hadn’t seen those since elementary school. Then again, Arisato said seven years, right? He must have died and ended up here in 2009… 

 

“Can I see?”

 

With a moment of hesitation, Goro handed him his phone, unlocking the screen. “It’s touchscreen. I have a few apps on there if you want to take a look, but it’s not exactly connected to internet.”

 

“You have games in here?” Arisato wondered, swiping the screen in fascination. He tapped on the browser icon, curious as he opened the newsfeed it automatically connected to. He scrolled a bit, not entirely interested, until he paused, thumb hovering over an article starring the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.

 

“Ah, just a few. I don’t play them very much, but there’s Candy Crush and Civilization.”

 

“You’ll have to teach me how to play sometime,” Arisato hummed, selecting one of the articles. He mumbled, more to himself than to Goro, “I have a lot to catch up on though…”

 

He couldn’t help but feel bad for Arisato. After such a long time of being alone, he must be starved for mental stimulation.

 

As Arisato scrolled through his phone, Goro wondered, “So, why are we here? You went to Gekkoukan?”

 

“Are you from Iwatodai?”

 

“Ah, no. It’s just that I recognize this place from news articles about a case here,” he coughed, slightly embarrassed. “I believe it was something about Mass Lethargy Syndrome?”

 

“Hm, that’s what Shirogane Naoto called it too, huh?” Arisato murmured.

 

Goro’s mouth fell open. “You know Shirogane Naoto?”

 

“I suppose you can say that… We only met once though, and I don’t believe they remember me anymore,” Arisato responded, “Mass Lethargy Syndrome was what the Kirijo Group covered it up as. We called it Apathy Syndrome, and that’s precisely how I ended up here.”

 

“You caught the syndrome?”

 

He shook his head. “No, far from that. In short, there was a 25th hour, which we called the Dark Hour, where creatures called Shadows roamed. Behind the shadows was Nyx, the embodiment of death, and Erebus, the embodiment of darkness. I’m just here to play warden to Erebus so what happened then doesn’t happen again.”

 

Arisato’s voice was casual, as if he didn’t care if Goro believed him or not. To a regular person, Arisato must have sounded like a nutcase.

 

“That sounds similar to the Metaverse,” Goro commented, but said nothing more.

 

“You know something about Personas?”

 

So, he had suspected correctly. Arisato was like him. “Yes, actually. I died in the Metaverse, the dimension where Shadows roamed, while fighting off a cognition in a palace.”

 

“I don’t know anything about palaces, but during the Dark Hour, we had towers,” Arisato mused, “Tell me a bit more.”

 

And Goro did, their conversation wandering deeper into learning about each other’s experiences in their respective timelines.

 

\--

 

From Arisato, Goro learned that this void can be moulded by a single thought. That was why Tatsumi Port Island had appeared from nothing that day.

 

Wandering the streets of Yongen-jaya was a strange feeling, especially with no moon in the sky and the lack of pedestrians on the streets. It was too quiet.

 

A familiar light lit an alley of closed shops up ahead. He felt his heart beat faster.

 

Goro hurried his step, foolish as it was given that no one but him wandered the streets, and turned left.  _ Goro, you are an absolute idiot, _ he thought to himself as his step barely faltered in front of the door to the cafe, where a warm light seeped through the glass. It was stupid to hope he’d see any one, when he was long dead, yet his chest swelled with a want, a  _ need. _

 

The bells rang when he entered, the door closing behind him.

 

A pair of gray eyes looked up at him from behind the counter, surprised, before familiar lips pulled into a devilish smirk. “Honey, welcome home!”

 

Goro stared back, mouth hung open in between wanting to cough blood and wanting to cry at seeing the familiar attic trash.  _ This cannot be happening right now _ .

 

“Is the usual fine, Akechi?” Kurusu asked as he stepped back from the counter he was just cleaning to get started on the coffee. “It’s almost closing, so you owe me double—is everything okay?”

 

Kurusu frowned at him. Goro had been too wrapped up in his shock to notice the warmth on cheeks, hot tears already spilling from his eyes. He hastily wiped at his eyes, finding it hard to breathe.

 

“Akechi?”

 

He turned, leaving without another word. He started running, as far as he can from the tiny cafe. It was a full minute of running before he collapsed against a brick wall, breathing hard. He let himself slide down, gasping for breath as he rubbed at his eyes where more tears threatened to spill.

 

What the hell was that? Weren’t he and Arisato the only beings in this void? Could Kurusu actually be dead?

 

He gripped the fabric of his trousers as his hands balled into fists, no doubt leaving wrinkles in the soft black wool as cold dread permeated his skin like icy water. There was no way he could be dead… Could it really be true? Then that would mean Shido had gotten what he wanted. That he managed to crush the Thieves like ants.

 

He gritted his teeth, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, refusing to let a helpless sob escape the bubble in his chest.

 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but a drowsiness settled in his eyelids. The cool wall felt more comfortable with the passing minute.

 

Right, the void can be moulded with a single thought. Kurusu didn’t seem to act like he knew he was in the afterlife, so there was no way the teenager he saw back there was the real,  _ still-alive _ Kurusu Akira.

 

The chill of dread faded away, leaving behind exhaustion in its wake. Maybe he could sleep in this place.

 

When the darkness took him in its warm embrace, he didn’t dream. It seemed like an instant, thought a restful one, between when he let his eyes slide close and when he woke slowly to the starlight coming in through the window of a familiar bedroom. His apartment?

 

He sat up, pushing sheets he hadn’t touched in ages off of him, grimacing as his head spun. He wasn’t used to the feeling of sleep, not after spending who knows how long in this place. Goro’s eyes flicked to the side, to his dresser, and turned on the lamp. Beside it was a bottle of orange juice and a prepackaged dessert bun filled with some sort of cream. A note rested there, leaning against the bottle for support.

 

He took it in his hands, the paper smooth and crisp to the touch. Romaji was written in neat, but small writing across the sheet.

 

_ I figured the sidewalk isn’t a great place to sleep on, so I dropped you off here. And don’t worry about the pajamas; I didn’t even undress you. You’d be surprised at the extent we can affect our surroundings here. Enjoy. - Arisato Minato _

_ P.S. There’s a closet full of clothes, and water should be able to run. _

 

Goro looked down, and sure enough, he was dressed in the soft fabric of a white t shirt and shorts rather than the rough tan jacket and trousers he’s been wearing. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve been even more suspicious of Arisato being a secret pervert from that note.

 

Feeling his mouth dry, he opened the bottle and downed it in a few gulps. He didn’t realize he was this thirsty, and the taste of sweet and sour orange on his tongue felt refreshing. When was the last time he ate or drank anything? Right, before he got himself shot by that stupidly strong cognition.

 

By now, it had to be months. A year was a bit of a stretch, but then again he wouldn’t know. Time didn’t exist, his phone screen still read  _ 12:00 AM, December 12th, 2016, _ and he doubted he could age given how Arisato still looked like a seventeen-year-old after so many years.

 

Goro unwrapped the dessert bun and bit into it, careful to not drop any crumbs. The sweetness bloomed on his tongue, the bread as light and airy as the soft cream inside. It wasn’t the best he has ever had, but the taste of food was a novelty even though he hardly felt any hunger pangs.

 

The sky still remained a black expanse, but after his rest, it felt like a fresh morning. He showered and changed into new clothes, his white shirt and sweater vest with a pair of clean, unwrinkled trousers, before leaving his apartment.

 

He began walking down the silent, empty streets, his thoughts wandering. While the silence seemed foreboding at first, it calmed his senses, knowing that whatever there was, it was in his control. Other than Kurusu, at least.

 

When Goro had voiced his question about seeing images of unknown people like the long-grayed teen and the young woman with long red hair to Arisato, he waved it off as something similar to the cognitions Goro had explained to him.

 

_ Sometimes, even though this place is in our full control, our subconscious can slip through. If you’re thinking of someone, or if you’re close enough to that person, they can appear whether you intend it or not, _ he had said.

 

Goro had asked,  _ It sounds like we’re able to make people manifest if we’d like… Is that possible? _

 

Arisato shrugged at the time,  _ I suppose, if you think of it that way. But, I haven’t felt the need for people to fill this place up. I’ve moved on, and I’m sure most of my friends have moved on. There’s not much of a point, is there? _

 

The Kurusu he met in the cafe last night didn’t feel anything like the fleeting images he saw. He felt real, sounded real, and wasn’t just some passerby.

 

Goro turned the corner on the block, and he found himself back in Yongen-jaya. He blinked.

 

He hadn’t been walking that long, had he? Perhaps spatiality was still broken in this landscape, so he didn’t even need to bother taking the train from his apartment to here like he did back when he was still alive.

 

Holding in a nervous breath, he turned into the familiar alley and headed for the dreaded cafe.

 

He hadn’t been really thinking when he let his feet take him to the cafe that felt like home. Was he even ready to face Kurusu’s image?

 

The bells rang with the swing of the door, and the dark haired barista paused in his coffee-making, turning. His voice was hesitant, “Akechi?”

 

His shoulders relaxed, and the strain from the breath he had been holding left him. He replied, his voice forced light, “Honey, I’m home.”

 

Kurusu stared at him, blinking, before letting out a baffled laugh, his smile more soft than the usual smirk Goro saw on Joker’s face. “I was worried; you just left so suddenly. Was there something wrong? If you want to talk about it, I mean…”

 

“It’s nothing. I was just…” Goro’s voice trailed off. At Kurusu’s expectant expression and the knowledge that this wasn’t real, couldn’t be real, he supposed it didn’t matter what he said. He gave a smile, however weaker than he wanted it to be, “I was just glad to see you.”

 

Kurusu’s eyes softened. “Sounds like it must be a tough case this time around. You haven’t been around for awhile anyways. Why don’t you sit down? Coffee’s on the house.”

 

“Really?” Goro raised an eyebrow. Kurusu’s smile sharpened.

 

“It’ll just be added to your tab. Not that you don’t come with cash anyways; with that detective gig, you might as well help us pay for supplies for Mementos.”

 

Goro let out a chuckle before taking a seat across from Kurusu. “Kurusu, you work hard anyways, I’m sure you can handle taking care of us anyways.”

 

He groaned, shoulders slumping. “Akechi~ I’m working three jobs~”

 

“Does here even count?”

 

It almost felt normal, like his usual routine before the closing of Niijima Sae’s palace. Yet, his heart remained empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, I know this doesn't answer very much questions such as why Akechi and Minato are still alive, but I felt like I came to a natural ending with this chapter. We'll be seeing more of Akechi's POV and an eventual, but sooner than expected reveal of Minato's situation.
> 
> Sorry about the short chapter, but I didn't want to dump more of Goro's angst and his adventures after suddenly waking up alive all into one chapter. I hope you enjoyed, and leave a comment with your thoughts! I wasn't even planning to write Goro's POV at this point, so I guess we'll just have to see what new directions this fic will take us.
> 
> Off topic, but Auriel's Ascension by Jeremy Soule helped me write this chapter. Its sad, yet fantastical feel helped evoke the atmosphere of the afterlife Minato and Goro live in.


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